


we'll take the trail marked on your father's map

by cleverfics



Series: we'll take the trail marked on your father's map [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Adoption, Anniversary, Christmas, Engagement, Fluff, Holidays, Honeymoon, M/M, Parenthood, Poetry, Single Parent Louis, Valentine's Day, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, parenting fic, single parent, well it includes poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:42:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 100,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleverfics/pseuds/cleverfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis is a single father and harry just wants to be part of the family</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. we'll take the trail marked on your father's map

**Author's Note:**

> i owe thanks to jenny for like every word of this story  
> and louis' daughter is the loveliest thing to grace the fictitious world and that is all i have to say  
> enjoy!!!
> 
> -  
> edit:  
> this has been revised as of 2015! and as of now, all parts to this story will be posted here.  
> thank you to every single one of you for taking interest in this story!! x

  Louis Tomlinson is twenty-one years old. He’s fresh out of university, lives in a small but comfortable flat in Manchester, and he’s doing alright. Well, for the most part. See, the thing is, Louis is also in fact a single father to the ever lovely Genevieve, who is but four years old. 

This little girl is the light of Louis’ life, and quite literally the reason he wakes up bright and early every morning with a smile on his face, ready to conquer the day with his daughter at his side. Literally at his side, clinging to it, most of the time, as he hoists her up into his arms and she gets comfortable with her weight on his hipbone, her legs wrapped around his waist and her face in the crook of his neck. That just so happens to be her most favourite place in the world.

Genevieve has got thick dark brown hair that hangs in waves halfway down her back. She’s got bluer eyes than even her father’s, and she’s got a grin like his too. She’s petite, like her mother (who doesn’t happen to be around anymore, but that’s a long story), and according to Zayn she’s got a fierce attitude that happens to be an unruly combination of both her parents’.

She’s intelligent for her age, so much so that Louis finds himself learning from her each and every day with a bewildered smile spread from ear to ear. It’s early spring, and Louis just about had a stroke when he realized it was time to register his little girl for school. She starts in September, and it’s quite fitting, seeing as though she’s recently asked Louis to read her a bit of poetry before bed. Yeah, maybe she belongs there.

She’s pretty quirky, but that’s justifiable, because well, Louis is her father. She likes football, plenty of sugar in her tea, and she wears cherry flavoured lip gloss. Louis has never met a single person in his entire life that he loves anywhere near as much as he loves her.

It’s early Sunday morning and the sun is filtering into the room through the window and sneaking into the very corners of Louis’ sleep. He’s fighting consciousness, but we all know how that works; once you realize you’re fighting to stay asleep you’re already half way there, so you might as well throw in the towel. He opens his eyes to the yellow in the room, and he leans further into the pillow and takes a deep breath, noticing how the dust motes dance around the room where he can see them in the beams of light cast through the window.

He rolls over, and he finds a little girl in a nightgown peering into the room from the doorway, one leg crossed in front of the other and her fingers twisting around a piece of her tangled hair.

“Come here, munchkin,” he says, and she takes a running jump onto the bed. He presses multiple kisses to her face before rolling around and tickling her until he gets to hear that wind-chime laughter of hers that he loves so much.

Louis lets up when she’s slumped into the mattress beside him, trying to catch her breath. She looks over to him before gasping, “Daddy wait, don’t move! You’ve got a fallen eyelash!”

“Can you get it for me?”

She removes the eyelash from his cheekbone and places it on her finger before presenting it before him. “Make a wish!” 

He makes a wish quietly to himself and blows the strand from her small fingertip and she clasps her hands together and smiles, quite happy with the situation.

“You know what I wished for?” Louis asks, and she shrugs as though she doesn’t care, but really she’s quite curious. “I wished we’d be able to stay in bed all day!”

“Your wish won’t come true,” she says matter-of-factly. “Not only because you said it out loud. It won’t come true because last night you promised me we could go to the park today.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Mhm. Now come on Daddy, we’ve got to make breakfast.”

So they pull off the covers and head for the kitchen where Louis pours a bowl of cheerios for the both of them and Genevieve stretches up on the tips of her toes to reach for the milk on the top shelf of the fridge, and they sit across from each other at the squared kitchen table. All that can be heard in the small flat is the slurping of milk and the crunch of cereal.

After breakfast it’s time to get ready so Louis runs a bath and helps Genevieve in. She pours a hefty amount of bubbles into the warm water wading around her and Louis tosses her a rubber duck to play with while he washes her up. He’s halfway through shampooing her long hair when she stops him to pile bubbles onto his chin.

“You’ve got a bubble beard!” Genevieve laughs. Louis feels the bubbles burst against his skin and she cocks her head to study his face. “You need to shave, Daddy, your face is scruffy and it popped them all!”

“You’re right, munchkin. I do need a shave,” he agrees, running his fingers over his rough jaw.

When she’s out of the bath he towels her off and brushes gently through her hair before helping her to dress. He tells her to tidy up the mess she’s made in her room while he showers (and shaves), and when he’s done he finds her in the living room folded into the corner of the sofa with cartoons playing on the telly. Her hair is most dried now, fallen just slightly damp against her back, and when he walks into the room she lights up.

“Park now?” She asks, her voice full of mischief and impatience.

“Soon,” he says. He puts a load of laundry in the wash and he cleans the bit of dishes they used this morning, and finally, finally he’s ready. 

The clock says it’s only nine o’clock in the morning, and he thinks back to a time where he could sleep in and not have to worry about having so many things to do so early in the morning. He thinks about this almost every morning, and he hates the clock for it, because he feels guilty. He doesn’t resent waking before seven every morning with a list full of chores to do, and that is simply because he doesn’t regret any of it. Was the pregnancy an accident? Yes, of course. Was it a mistake, however? Most certainly not. Sure, life would be different if he weren’t a father, but he wouldn’t change it even if he could. 

And this is when he routinely slots in a couple of seconds of resentment toward Genevieve’s absentee mother, because he just doesn’t understand. He just doesn’t understand how she could leave Genevieve, the most lovable person to grace the world. He doesn’t understand how she could be so selfish as to continue on with her life without sparing a glance back at the little girl she left behind. He doesn’t understand how she could do that; how she could just assume she’s okay (if she even cared to spend a precious thought about the wellbeing of her, that is) and how she couldn’t stick around to watch her grow up into the wonderfully successful women she’s bound to be.

Once he’s through with his bit though, he bounds into the living room and scoops Genevieve up off the sofa and presses a kiss to her forehead. She does the thing where she nestles onto his hip and latches her legs around him, and he grabs her bag and his keys off the counter and they slide their shoes on and head out to the car in the parking lot.

The park is filled with running children, crying babies, and gossiping mothers sat on benches. Louis only loves taking Genevieve to the park because she loves it when he does. She likes many things, but she has an extraordinary love for the swings, so naturally, when he unbuckles her from her car seat she jumps out of the vehicle and grabs him by the hand, dragging him right to them. He’s got a brown bag draped over his shoulder and his phone and car keys clenched in the hand she isn’t holding, and he’s trying to keep up with his speedy little girl that can’t seem to get him to move fast enough.

“Slow down, baby girl,” he tells her. “We’ll get there in time, yeah? Let’s get some sunscreen on you first.” The sun is out and it’s pretty bright today, so he pulls the yellow tube of sunblock from the bag and coats it over her visible skin. 

Then he lets her go back to leading the way to the swings, where he sets his stuff down and helps her up onto the seat. She clutches tightly onto the chains on either side of her, and he pulls her back first before letting her go forward. This is her favourite part, when he starts to push her and she gains height.

“It feels like flying!” She says.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s pushed her when a middle-aged woman helps her son onto the swing next to them, looking over with a fond smile.

“So nice of your brother to bring you to the park on such a beautiful day,” she says to Genevieve, who’s still breezing back and forth through the air.

“I’m not her brother,” Louis says, pressing his lips into a flat line. It’s not like strangers haven’t made such assumptions before, but it’s still uncomfortable, needless to say.

“Higher, Daddy!” Genevieve shouts, and he complies.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he says as he gives her a stronger push. She soars through the air on the swing, practically cutting through it before bounding back into her father’s hands, where he pushes her off the landing again.

The woman next to them has a slight blush on, probably embarrassed, and neither of them speak another word. She must not be one of the regular mums here, Louis figures, because most of them know Louis, and they have since he would bring Genevieve here as a baby when he was just seventeen years old.

He gets a call from Zayn and he answers it single-handedly as he continues to push Genevieve in front of him. He tells Zayn to meet them at the park and he pockets his phone and slows down the swing. When it gets low enough to the ground, Genevieve tries to jump off, but she doesn’t make the landing and she topples over into the dirt. Louis picks her up and dusts her off and he grabs her Little Mermaid cup filled with juice from the bag and offers it to her, which she doesn’t hesitate to take.

Zayn surprises Genevieve with ice cream, which he’s sometimes known to do. Zayn has a habit of putting up a cold front to anyone and everyone, even Louis sometimes, but the one person who his heart holds a soft spot for is Genevieve.

“What do you say?” Louis asks her expectantly.

“Thank you for the ice cream Uncle Zayn,” she grins, chocolate staining the corners of her mouth. By the time she’s done she’s got half of it on her shirt and the other half on her face, and Louis wonders whether she actually ate any of it or not.

“Why don’t you go play in the sandbox now, yeah?” Louis suggests, and she peels away towards it, her little heart set on making a castle. She’s gone for like two and a half seconds before Louis turns to look Zayn in the eye.

“Nope, no way. Not doing it,” Zayn refuses. “I know that look, Tomlinson, and I’m not fulfilling any favours any time soon.”

“Please Zayn, I just need you to babysit your favourite little girl tomorrow night,” Louis says, his voice thick with sweetness as he sugar coats his favour.

Zayn doesn’t say anything.

“Zayn, come on. I’ll give you my first born child,” Louis pleads.

“So now I get to keep her forever, and not just for the night?”

“Shut up. The next one, okay? My second child goes to you. He or she is all yours,” Louis is so hopeful that he’s nodding his head along as he speaks. “Just for a few hours, I promise. Please? Just, please.”

“You already know I will. I just wanted to see you beg,” Zayn laughs and scoots over to find Genevieve in the sandbox. He tells her it’s time to go and he picks her up and walks back to where Louis is stood with all his stuff in-hand. “By the way, I’m keeping your first.”

“Just go to the car,” Louis deadpans and Zayn smirks, putting Genevieve back in her car seat.

 

 

So Monday rolls around and the morning routine is swept through flawlessly. Breakfast, then bath, and then like every other morning that Louis has to work, he takes Genevieve to Zayn’s flat, where he watches her for the day.

Louis works your typical nine to five shift at the local call center. Turns out he went to university for three years to chat on the phone with unhappy customers from big companies. He spends his eight hours drinking tea with a headset on, absentmindedly listening to the customer’s complaints, and once in a while having to research paper trails or marketing details. He gets a half an hour off for lunch, which he sometimes spends taking a walk down the road to the little record shop or to stop by the small telephone booth book exchange. Both of these places make him smile, and he usually ends up picking something up for Genevieve, whether it be a used CD or maybe a small book he thinks she’d like.

When he’s done his shift he wastes no time getting out of there and picking up his little girl, but today he’s leaving her with Zayn for the evening, so he gives him a call on the drive home.

“Everything okay?”

"Course," Zayn says. “Took her to get her hair dyed pink this afternoon."

“Zayn, so help me god if I see one pink strand on her head I will come after you,” Louis warns, though he’s not actually too worried. Zayn wouldn’t do that. He thinks, anyway.

“So where are you even going tonight, anyway?” Zayn asks. Louis’ not sure if it’s a conversational change ply or if he’s actually curious.

“Date,” Louis states. “And before you ask who, you should know I haven’t actually met him yet.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. You know Stan, right? Yeah, he set the whole thing up, so.”

“It could be good for you, mate. You haven’t dated anyone since—”

“Yeah, I know. I mean, I just haven’t had time, you know? Genevieve is a full-time job, on top of having to actually work, and school to attend before, and—”

“I know, Lou, I know. It’s okay, I didn’t mean-just never mind, have fun tonight, okay? Genevieve says hi,” Zayn mumbles.

“Tell her I miss her and I got her a surprise for when we get home, okay? I’ve gotta run, date soon,” Louis says before bidding goodbye and hanging up the phone.

He changes his outfit nearly ten times. He doesn’t have dating attire, maybe he should just cancel. 

No, he is Louis Tomlinson, and he’s going through with this. It’s just a date, no big deal, he’s done this sort of thing before. Given, that was roughly five years ago, and dating is a whole lot different in your twenties than in your teens. Well, it’s safe to assume. Not the point though.

So he settles on a blue button up shirt tucked into a pair of khakis, his hair expertly styled (as per usual), and he throws his watch on his wrist and leather shoes on his feet and he heads out the door.

The plan is to meet, um, Liam, his name is, at the small but eloquent restaurant on the corner of Fourth and Mary street at six o’clock, and without a doubt he’s couple minutes late.

The date goes horribly, which is something Louis honestly didn’t expect. He can’t say the same for Liam, though, as it looked like he was having a nice time, but truth be told Louis was a bit overwhelmed. They shared bits about each other over the course of their dinner, and it seemed to Louis that Liam had his entire future planned out before him, which was something he never spared a thought about.

Liam is a bio-med student, on the road to being a doctor. He wants to get married fresh out of post-grad, go on a traveling expedition to Greece, Spain and Germany, have three children and a dog, and live in a large house with a pool out back.

All the while, Louis’ got some dinky and apparently useless degree that’s bound him to making minimum wage, living in a quaint little flat with his four year old daughter. Louis doesn’t even know what he’s making for dinner tomorrow let alone decided on structured plans for the years ahead of them.

When the date is over Liam pulls a notepad from his jacket pocket (of course) and writes his number on the top sheet before ripping it off and handing it to Louis. On his way to Zayn’s, Louis crumples the slip of paper with the phone number on it and tosses it out the window, because fuck, his life is an embarrassment compared to the other man’s, and he simply can’t establish that kind of relationship.

He knocks at Zayn’s door around eight and someone small opens the door with a thousand watt grin.

“I gave Uncle Zayn a makeover!” Genevieve squeals, and Louis picks her up before musing about how he’s got to see this, so she directs them to the living room where Zayn is lightly dozing upright on the couch. She’s right, she did give him a makeover. His hair has jeweled clips in it, there’s pink glitter shadow dusted over his eyes, and red lipstick smeared messily on his lips. Louis pulls his phone out and snaps a picture, the flash waking Zayn up.

“Fuck off,” he snaps, and Genevieve’s hands fly up to cover her ears.

“Should I ask why you even have makeup lying around, or is better not to question it?” Louis jokes, and Zayn’s hands reach up to touch his face and they come back with a red lip stain.

“Brat,” Zayn says to Genevieve, who just sticks out her tongue in response. “But thank you, I just can’t imagine how pretty I look now.”

“Very,” she assures.

Louis decides it’s getting late, so he gathers all of her stuff and they head back home. When they walk through the door of their flat Genevieve lets out a long yawn and after she gets into her pyjamas she asks for a bedtime snack, so she takes a seat at the table and Louis hands her a cookie and a small glass of milk. When she’s done he sends her to brush her teeth, and Louis meets her in her bedroom with the surprise he mentioned earlier.

“I found something today that I thought you might like,” Louis says as he tucks her into bed. He shows her the book and she gasps, because she loves it when her Daddy reads to her every night before bed, and now he can read her poetry. “Your mum used to love Robert Frost’s work, so, I thought you might too.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. Whenever the topic of her mother is brought up she becomes practically inaudible, almost as if she’s afraid to speak. “Will you read some to me?”

“Of course, baby girl. Okay, how about this one? A Prayer In Spring?” Louis asks, and approval through the nod of her head is what he gets.

Before he can start, however, there’s a loud tapping sound coming from the wall above Genevieve’s head. The two of them jump and look for the cause, but it’s over after a couple of seconds, so they shrug and Louis begins the poem.

"Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;

And give us not to think so far away

As the uncertain harvest; keep us here

All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,

Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;

And make us happy in the happy bees,

The swarm dilating round of the—”

The tapping noise begins again, this time on a different part of the wall. Louis huffs, what is going on? He waits for it to stop, and when it does, he continues.

"the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird

That suddenly above the bees is heard,

The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,

And off a blossom—”

When the tapping starts again, Louis folds the book closed and tells Genevieve he’ll be back. He walks out the door of his flat in his stocking feet, his blue shirt wrinkled and pulled out from where it was tucked in around his waist, the sleeves half rolled. He heads to the flat next door and knocks thrice before running a hand through the wisps of his hair.

A gangly boy answers the door, and Louis is lost for words. What is he supposed to say? He swallows thickly and looks at his feet before looking back up at the boy.

“This might sound strange, but, um, are you hitting the wall or something? I’m not sure—”

“Oh, yeah, that’s me, sorry. Just moved in today, so I’m trying to hang some pictures and make the place a bit homier,” the boy says. His hair is unruly and it kind of reminds Louis of Genevieve’s when she wakes up with tangles and twists.

“Listen, um, wait. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Louis stumbles over the words he isn’t sure he’s trying to speak.

“It’s Harry Styles,” the boy says with a wink.

“Right, Harry. Welcome to the place, I guess? But listen, I’ve got a little one I’m trying to put to sleep, and I can’t do that if you’re hammering pictures up against her bedroom wall.”

“Oh, sorry, mate. I’ll just finish tomorrow, yeah?” Harry says apologetically. 

“Right, thanks. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight to you too, …?”

“Louis.”

“Goodnight to you too, Louis.”

Louis makes his way back to Genevieve’s room, where he finds her asleep already in the peace and quiet. He’ll just finish the poem tomorrow night, he figures as he picks up the book and leaves a kiss to her forehead before turning off the light and heading out.

 

 

❖

 

 

It’s the next morning and they’re getting ready to leave, but when Genevieve opens the door she finds a strange boy standing in front of it with his arm out, as though he was about to knock.

“You must be the little girl I was keeping up last night,” Harry guesses, bending down to meet her at eye level. “What’s your name?”

“This is Genevieve,” Louis tells him before she has time to do so herself. “Munchkin, this is our new neighbour. Sorry we haven’t got the time to chat, err, Harry, we’re running a bit late today.”

“S’okay, I just came to bring some cookies,” he smiles.

“Apology cookies. Nice,” Louis says flatly. Harry hands him the plate with an unfaltering grin though, so he accepts them and Genevieve runs to set them on the kitchen counter, stealing one for the car ride.

“Chocolate chip are my favourite, thank you Harry!” She says brightly, giving him a hug. 

“No problem, kiddo.”

Louis isn’t sure how he feels about his daughter hugging strangers, so he grabs her hand and pulls her back. He scoops up her bag and they walk out the door, Harry backing up with them. Although he doesn’t even know Harry, and he probably should be, Louis isn’t surprised at all when the boy follows them all the way to the lifts at the end of the hall.

“Look, Louis,” he mumbles. “I don’t really know many people here, and I’d love to make it up to you after last night, so what do you say to dinner?”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal, Harry, and you didn’t have to bring over a tray of cookies, either. But thank you, though,” he tries to let him down nicely. If Louis learned anything from last night’s event with Liam, it’s that he isn’t in any place to be dating right now, and there isn’t anything he can do about that.

“Right,” Harry says, trying not to let his smile fall. The elevator door closes and suddenly the boy with the curly hair is out of sight.

“Daddy, was he trying to ask you on a date?” Genevieve asks, a hint of excitement tingeing her soft voice.

“I think he was,” Louis admits wryly.

“You should have dinner with him then,” she decides. “I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“How could I be lonely when I’ve got you, munchkin?” Louis’ heart pangs at how thoughtful she’s being, and he doesn’t want to hurt or feelings or leave her feeling disappointed.

“Not what I meant,” she rolls her eyes. “Whenever you mention my mum, like last night, you get sad. I know you miss her. Maybe you don’t have to miss her so much if you have someone else.”

“How old are you?” Louis asks rhetorically, astonished by the words coming from a child.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to date, because sure, it might be nice to have someone to be intimate and tender with, but he just can’t. He’s pretty sure he could get quite hung up over those green eyes, and he doesn’t want to watch anyone else walk out of his life, and especially not Genevieve’s. She’s already expressed a liking for him that’s quite evident thanks to his stupid chocolate chip cookies. If her own mother could waltz out of her life with such ease, than who’s to say that just about anyone else can’t do the same? He can’t have that happen to her again, he won’t let it.

He waves off all of her attempts to persuade him, but she’s pretty stubborn. She gets that from him and he knows so, but he refuses to admit it.

He’s quick dropping her off at Zayn’s, and he wasn’t lying to Harry, they really were running late, and he has to break like four driving laws to get to work on time, but he makes it and takes his seat at his little cubical and puts on his headset, ready to take his calls.

The day blurs by before his eyes and suddenly it’s time to put Genevieve to bed again. She crawls under the covers and Louis pulls out the Robert Frost book again, finding the page that A Prayer In Spring is on and flipping right to it.

“Where did we leave off?” He asks.

“Something about blossoms,” she tells him, and she’s right, so he starts to read in a slow poetic drawl.

"And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,

The which it is reserved for God above

To sanctify to what far ends He will,

But which it only needs that we fulfill.”

“Daddy, what was my mother’s favourite poem?” Genevieve asks. 

Louis voice is caught in his throat, as this is the first time she’s ever asked about her. Louis knows that one day she will, and he’ll tell her the story about how two young kids who thought they were in love had a baby, though they were the farthest thing from ready to be parents. But in all honesty he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for that day to come, because to explain what happened to his little girl would break her heart, and it would break his all over again.

He sighs, and he doesn’t trust his voice to not break over the words, but he tells Genevieve that her mother’s favourite poem was Fire and Ice, and when she asks him to read it to her he’s brought back to a time where they would lay together and she would read him this very same piece of literature. But he can’t refuse his baby girl, so with a shaky voice he reads aloud:

"Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favour fire.

But if I had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.”

Louis closes the book and sets it down, not sure what to say. Genevieve reaches out to hold his hand and leans over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“That’s a very pretty poem,” she says. “But you’re thinking about her and you’re sad again, I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t got a thing to be sorry for, princess. I’m okay, I promise,” he tells her, and he pulls the sheets up to her chin, kisses her goodnight and whispers it in her ear.

 

 

❖

 

 

By Friday, the week had grown tired. Louis can’t wait to spend his weekend off lazing about, but he’s got one more day to endure first. He gets Genevieve ready; combs her hair and gets her dressed, the whole bit, before speeding through a scalding shower of his own. He throws his work clothes on quickly, not bothering to tuck his shirt in just yet, he hates having his shirt tucked in. He feels restrained, okay, and he doesn’t like feeling so prim.

He’s helping Genevieve get her shoes on when his cellphone rings loudly in his pocket, vibrating against his leg. It’s times like these when Louis wishes he had more than two hands, because it would be so much easier to get everything done on time if not for interruptions.

“Hello?” Louis greets after answering, not bothering to check the Caller-ID. He was right to figure it was Zayn.

“It’s me,” he tells him coolly. “Look, uh, I know you’re probably on your way to bring Genevieve here for the day, but I just got called into work myself.”

“Shit,” Louis spits into the receiver. Zayn rarely, very rarely ever works anything but night shifts, which is the biggest blessing in Louis’ life, as he relies on Zayn to take care of his daughter during the daytime while he attends his own job.

“I’m sorry Lou,” Zayn mumbles. “I’ve got to go though.”

Louis groans and hangs up and he rubs his face with the palms of his hands. Why can’t some things just work out? Why do things always have to go wrong for him?

He leads Genevieve out the door, looking back to realize he’d forgotten her bag and she was trying to drag the thing out with her. He apologizes softly before swinging it over his shoulder and picking her up, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“Alright Munchkin, looks like you’re going to have to come to work with me for a bit today,” Louis tells her. “We’ll figure something out, though.”

Louis almost has a heart attack when he feels a hand far too big to be Genevieve’s land on his shoulder. He clutches his daughter closer to his chest and spins around, breathing heavily when he comes face to face with Harry. Admittedly not the face of someone he wanted to see this early in the day. Again.

“You dropped this,” Harry says, handing him a Little Mermaid cup. Louis holds onto Genevieve with the crook of one arm while he tightens the lid on the cup and tosses it into the bag with the other.

“Thanks,” he says, “On the run, though, see you arou—”

“Can’t Harry watch me?” Genevieve suggests, her voice twinkling like chimes.

“No, sweetheart. I’m sure he’s busy today anyway,” Louis says, turning back for the lifts.

“No, I can watch her if you need a sitter,” Harry offers.

“That’s okay, I’ll figure something out.”

“Louis don’t be ridiculous,” Harry says, managing to reject the rejection. He reaches his arms out to Genevieve, and Louis reflexively jerks back so she’s out of his reach. He realizes how nonsensical he’s being, so he smiles kindly, slowly moving to hand her over.

“Thank you so much, Harry,” Louis says with a sigh. Genevieve is delighted, bouncing with glee in the other boy’s arms. Harry takes the brown bag from Louis, and Louis searches his pockets for his phone, asking Harry for his number. He sends him a text and says, “There, now you’ve got mine, just in case. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” Harry assures, and Louis is thankful that for some reason he trusts that, because he doesn’t have the time to stand around and hesitate any longer, so he speeds off to work where he spends a majority of his time wondering how Genevieve is with Harry.

Turns out she was fine, apparently, Louis finds out when he gets back to the complex and knocks impatiently at his neighbour’s door.

“You called seven times, Louis. Did you even have time to work today, or were you too busy checking up on me?” Harry teases.

“For the record, I was checking up on my daughter, thank you,” Louis says. Genevieve comes running to the door when she hears his voice and she grabs her father by the hand, pulling him into Harry’s flat.

“Come on, Daddy. Harry and I made dinner, look,” she grins, taking him to the kitchen. As he made his way through the apartment for the first time, he took in his surroundings, noting that it was almost identical to his own, just flipped.

“You guys didn’t have to do that,” Louis gasps when he sees Harry’s table set with three bowls of pasta.

“We wanted to do something nice while you were working,” Genevieve tells him, quite pleased with herself. Louis bends down and presses a soft kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Thank you munchkin,” he smiles. “And thank you too, Harry, for everything today.”

Harry just waves him off and takes a seat at the table where they share stories of what they did throughout the day over dinner. By the end of the meal Louis is full and he’s tired from his long day, and he just wants to change into sweats and curl up on the couch with his little girl and maybe drift in and out of a nap while she spends the night entranced in cartoons and barbies. He grabs Genevieve’s things before heading to the door and calling her over, saying it’s time to go.

“Can’t I stay?” She asks.

“No love, let’s go,” he tells her, and she crosses her arms over her chest with a huff.

“She can stay if she wants,” Harry says. “I was planning on staying in tonight anyway.”

Louis bites his tongue. He doesn’t particularly fancy the way Harry undermines his parenting to let Genevieve have her way. But then he realizes that’s foolish, because in almost every other situation he’s the one who lets her get her way, and he can’t simply conjure up reasons as such to dislike someone.

Louis has gone all day being skeptical and judgmental towards Harry, but then defending him not a full second later. Maybe he needed to sit down and figure a few things out, because his thoughts were giving him whiplash.

He finally decides that she can stay, no longer than eight thirty, though, and he heads back home to change and rest. At precisely eight twenty-seven there’s a knock at the door, and he opens it to Genevieve, and Harry, who’d walked her there.

He sends her to brush her teeth and get ready for bed, and when she is he tucks her in and takes a couple minutes to read her the poem A Time to Talk, and he wishes her sweet dreams and kisses her goodnight, like always.

 

 

❖

 

 

Louis loves Saturdays best, because Saturdays are meant for sleeping in and lazing about in your pyjamas all day and eating junk food. When he wakes up on Saturday morning, he glances over to his beside clock, literally shocked to see the time is nearly eleven o’clock.

Sure, the sleep was nice, but Louis’ got a bad feeling sitting in his gut; intuition, if you will. There is one thing Louis can rely on, and that is that if he has any intention of sleeping in, his daughter is never too generous about it. She’s an early riser to say the least, so sleeping in on the weekends usually means he doesn’t have to get up until around eight. The digital 11:00 that’s flashing in his face does nothing but tell him that there’s got to be something wrong.

He springs out of bed, not even taking the time to throw a shirt on, and he opens the door to Genevieve’s bedroom, where he finds her curled up on her bed. She’s whimpering, the sound piercing sharply through Louis. Her hair is damp with sweat and matted to her forehead, knotty and splayed out on the pillow, and she’s shivering, her body shuddering beneath her blankets.

Louis bends down beside her bed, gently pushing her hair back and pressing the palm of his hand to her fiery forehead. Yeah, she definitely has a fever. 

As he heads for the pantry to flit through the medicine and find something he can give her to cool down, she calls weakly from where she’s bundled up on the bed, “Daddy, I don’t feel good.”

“I know baby girl,” he says, pained by how weak her voice is. “I’ll be right back, ‘kay? I’m going to find some medicine for you.”

Just to his luck, there’s literally nothing he can give her. Their medicinal supplies don’t extend much farther than neocitron, painkillers, and a box of lotiony tissues. He hates to do this, but he heads next door, hoping desperately that Harry’s home. He’s never before been so glad to see his neighbour.

“You don’t happen to have any medicine for children kicking around, do you?” Louis asks before he even says hello.

“Can’t say I do,” Harry replies. He somehow manages to drag out his words and talk even slower than usual when he comes to realize that Louis is standing half naked in his doorway on a Saturday. “Um, why? Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, Genevieve’s really sick. I, uh—thanks anyway, but I’ve got to get back in there,” Louis’ head is jumbled, and he’s irritated by it, because this has been a constant. He can never decide what to say to Harry, and he manages to trip over his words literally every time they speak. “Wait, um, could you do me a favour?”

“Of course.”

Louis cocks his head towards his place, signaling for Harry to follow him back there. He grabs his wallet off the counter on his way back to Genevieve’s room, Harry one step behind him.

“Daddy, I think I’m going to be sick,” she breathes, clutching her stomach. Louis picks her up and carries her quickly to the bathroom, but he doesn’t make it all the way to the toilet. He moves her hair out of her face and rubs her back as she throws up into the sink, and Louis makes a sour face when he thinks about how he’s going to have to clean this all up after.

“All done sweetheart?” He asks, and she nods shakily, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She’s mid reach for her toothbrush when she notices Harry standing in the hallway just outside the bathroom.

“Sorry you’re sick, kiddo,” Harry says, and suddenly Louis remembers that he’s there.

“Harry, can you run to the pharmacy for me and pick something up for a stomach bug?” Louis asks, searching for the wallet he grabbed earlier and pulling out twenty quid.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry nods, though he’s not sure what exactly he should be looking for. He anticipates mind numbingly long blank stares at boxed children’s flu meds while he tries to decide which one to get. “Any specific brand?”

“Whatever you can find that’ll work. Make sure it relieves fevers, as well. And maybe get some ginger ale?”

“Sure thing,” Harry says, and he grabs the money Louis is holding out to him and strides out the door.

By the time Harry gets back, Louis is making tea in the kitchen and Genevieve is bundled under thick blankets on the sofa in the living room with a big pail in her lap so she doesn’t have to move if she gets sick. Convenient, really. He sets the bag of stuff down on the kitchen counter and Louis immediately rifles through it in search for the medicine.

“It’s grape flavoured, it can’t be that bad,” Louis assures Genevieve, who is not pleased with the idea of taking it. “C’mon baby, open up.”

 ”No thank you Daddy.”

“You know,” Harry says as he walks into the living room. “If you don’t take it, you’re not going to get better. But that’s not really a big deal, I’m sure being sick isn’t so bad, right?”

Genevieve’s jaw drops open, terrified by the thought of not getting better, and furthermore willing to take it, and Louis takes this opportunity to shove the spoonful of grape medicine in her mouth.

“Good girl,” Louis kisses the top of her forehead and turns off the telly. “No cartoons for right now, okay? You should get some sleep.”

Genevieve drops off into a doze rather quickly, and Louis goes back to his tea, offering a mug to Harry. The two of them take a seat at the table, stirring the proper fixings into their mugs, the sound of their spoons clinking against the porcelain sounding throughout the kitchen. Louis chuckles suddenly to himself, and Harry gives him a funny look.

“Was last night your way of getting me to have dinner with you?” Louis asks, kind of humoured. He hadn’t thought of it until just now, and he was impressed with Harry’s ability to be sly.

“Maybe,” Harry blushes. “But that wasn’t the kind of dinner I was originally hoping for.”

“Harry,” Louis sighs. He’s only known the boy less than a week, and he doesn’t exactly know much about him, other than the fact that he’s helped Louis like a dozen times already and he has crazy hair. He shakes his head at him, because the idea is just ridiculous. It’s just not what Louis needs right now.

“You should try being a little more open minded about it,” Harry suggests, swallowing a scorching gulp of tea. His hands tighten around the mug, and if anyone asks, it was involuntary, and it has nothing to do with the fact that Harry has so quickly developed a love for his neighbours, the tiny little family that they are, and that Louis can’t see that.

Instead of taking Harry’s gracious advice, Louis just shrugs. “I can’t be doing that sort of thing, Harry. I’ve got a daughter, I’ve got responsibilities, I’ve got—”

“A broken heart,” Harry says softly when Louis’ voice trails off. He knew it really wasn’t his place to say anything of the sort, but he can see the truth swimming in Louis’ eyes, pearly blue, like a vast ocean.

“That’s um, quite out of line, really, for you to make such assumptions,” Louis’ brows crease with frustration, and he digs around his brain for words to say to make Harry Styles go away, because who is he to walk into his life and start making accusations to justify wanting to get his way?

“I’m sorry, Louis. I didn’t mean to offend you I just—you seem so—”

“Sad? Lonely?” Louis interjects. “Yeah, I’ve heard. My four year old decided to inform me of that already, so I guess you’re late to the punch.”

“Louis,” Harry says hopelessly.

“No, Harry,” Louis says sternly. “Not after what happened with her mother. I’ve tried, okay. My life is unstructured and spontaneous—take today for example—and I’ve got to keep her best interest in mind, and I’m sorry, but certain things are just out of the picture for me right now.”

Harry just nods and clucks his tongue, because there is nothing he could’ve done to change the direction of this conversation, and there still isn’t. So he pushes his chair out from the table and grabs his phone before telling Louis he’ll check up later, though he’s not sure why he said anything at all, and he goes back home.

Louis, however, knows why Harry decided to tell him he’ll be back later to see how things are going. Simply because he cares. He cares about Louis, a man he barely knows, and he is terribly fond of the young girl asleep on the couch in the next room over. 

But Louis doesn’t want to think of thoughtful boys with too much room in their hearts for their own good, because he’s better off protecting his daughter, and lying to himself in the process.

 

 

Louis’s got a strong head on his shoulders, and he likes to think that he does a good job providing for and taking care of his daughter. Sure, there were a few times he knows he could have made better decisions or realized it would have been more beneficial to go about some things a different way, but every parent messes up once in a while, and he uses these instances as an opportunity to learn from his mistakes and better himself for her.

“I’m a good parent,” he tells himself in a groggy voice when he wakes from a dream that leaves him unsettled. He spent the night tossing and turning, barely able to get a wink of sleep between the constant string of thoughts stirring through his mind for hours on end.

It wasn’t as much of a fight as it was before to get Genevieve to take her medicine before bed, and she was out quickly, before he could even get through a short piece from the Robert Frost collection. Her fever had dropped slightly throughout the day, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t ill anymore, Louis came to realize, when he was startled from his attempt to sleep in the middle of the night by the sound of her throwing up from the next room over.

Now that he’s awake he figures he better check on her again, so he grabs the bottle of grape flavoured medicine (which for the record looks disgusting, poor girl) from the kitchen and heads to her bedside, waking her gently with soft words and a gentle hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing her hair back. 

“How are you feeling, baby girl?” He asks quietly in the silence of the morning.

“Still bad,” she groans. “When am I gonna feel better?”

“Soon, love. I’ve got some more medicine for you to take, okay?” He says, uncapping the bottle and filling a teaspoon with the purple syrup. She’s used to this by now, so she accepts it willingly, the hope of feeling well again twinkling in her eyes when single tear collects there. She swallows it down, fervently wishing it’ll be the last time she has to, and she turns over to go back to sleep.

Louis feels a bit queasy as he stands back up and heads for the kitchen, desperate for a cuppa. He brews the tea and pours it into his mug, but halfway through there’s a gut-wrenching twist in his stomach and he doesn’t think twice about sprinting to the bathroom with a hand covering his mouth, throwing up mercilessly into the toilet bowl. When he’s done he scrubs his teeth with his toothbrush and rinses his mouth thoroughly, desperate to get rid of the foul taste. 

He finds his bed and falls into it, never before appreciating the comfort of it so much as he does in that very moment. He’s hot and cold all over, so he pulls the sheets half way up his body, one leg sticking out and draping a warm arm over his face. He feels like shit, and he’s never before been so eager to take a nap.

He’s not sure what time is it when he opens his eyes, but he’s barely conscious when he hears someone’s voice, slow and lulling, and he’s a bit hazy so the voice is fuzzy and unrecognizable, on top of being muffled through the wall of his bedroom. His joints are stiff, but he manages to toss the covers off and swing his legs off the side of the bed, each step out of the room far more of an effort than it should be. 

The first thing he does is make a beeline for Genevieve’s room, and when he pokes his head through the door he sees Harry sitting on the edge of her bed, rubbing her back and telling her she’s going to be okay as she’s hunched over the plastic pail, obscenely sick noises coming from her in between bouts of vomit.

Louis enters the room and leans against the wall, and he finds himself sliding down until he’s sat on the floor, his head between his legs. “How did you even get in here?” His voice is scratchy, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up again.

“I used the old credit card trick to jiggle the lock when nobody answered the door,” Harry tells him.

“Great, so you’ve found a way to get in here at your own convenience,” Louis deadpans. He doesn’t have the energy in him to actually be annoyed, which ironically, is something he finds to be rather annoying.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks him as he reaches over for a towel to clean Genevieve’s mouth with. 

Louis wants to say he’s fine, but he himself wouldn’t even believe that. He’s quite sure he can’t move at all from the spot he’s sitting in, which makes him feel worse because his daughter is getting sick a few feet away from him and there’s nothing he can do to soothe her. He makes a mental note to thank Harry for taking care of her later on, for now settling on groaning about the pain he’s in.

“My entire body is sore,” Louis says. “I feel like hell.”

Harry settles Genevieve back down against her pillows and grabs the bucket from her lap. “Okay, back to bed mister,” Harry tells him, striding through the door to clean the contents out of the container.

“Can’t—move—” Louis’ exasperates as he tries to get up off the floor. There’s no way that’s happening.

“Oh, you big baby,” Harry chastises. He comes back into the room, not giving Louis time to object before he picks him up off the floor and carries him over to his bed in the next room over. He covers Louis up with blankets and presses the palm of his hand to the man’s forehead. “You’ve got quite the fever too, Lou.”

“Figured,” Louis tells him.

“Your bed is bigger, so I’m going to move Genevieve in here, so maybe we can keep the germs to just one place, yeah? Do you need a, err, vomit pail too?” Harry asks, to which he receives a gulp and a nod. “Okay, I’ll get you one of those and a cold compress, too.”

Harry comes back carrying Genevieve and he tucks her into the other side of Louis’ bed. Then he vanishes and comes back with two clean pails and puts them between the two of them, and he places a cold, wet cloth on each of their foreheads. He leaves again and comes back with a couple of glasses, setting one on each bedside table.

“If you don’t drink anything you’re going to get dehydrated,” Harry tells them. “And flat ginger ale will help settle your stomachs, so drink up. I’m going to make you some lunch, just holler if you need anything.”

And just like that he’s gone again, off to the kitchen to fix up some soup. The two of them, sick as can be, nod off again, and Harry searches the pantry, but right away he can tell Louis doesn’t cook much from scratch, so he runs to his flat and quickly grabs some things he’ll need to make homemade chicken noodle soup.

While it’s cooking, Harry strips the sheets from Genevieve’s bed and runs them through the washing machine, and he tidies up some of the things in her room. He finds some disinfectant and sanitizes the doorknobs and surfaces of which could be germy, and then he washes the dirty dishes that were left in the sink from the day before.

When he’s done he figures the soup is just about ready, so he pours and brings two steaming bowls into the bedroom and he helps the two of them sit up and instructs them to eat. “You’ve got to try and eat something. Hopefully you’ll be able to keep it down.”

“Harry, you don’t have to do this,” Louis says, a bit of a frown on his face. He didn’t do anything to deserve such help from his neighbour, in fact, after the way he’s treated him in return, Louis would have expected a whole hell of a lot worse. “You’re going to get sick, too.”

“My immune system never lets me down,” Harry winks and leaves the two of them to it and he cleans the mess he’s made in the kitchen, and then for good measure he disinfects those countertops too.

While the two of them rest Harry figures he might as well lend Louis a hand with the rest of the place, because it wasn’t exactly messy, but it wasn’t organized either. He finds a proper place for everything, hanging up Louis’ jacket in the closet, throwing Genevieve’s toys in a bin, and stacking the magazines onto the shelf next to the tv. He pops into the bedroom every once in a while to check on them, usually rewetting their compresses and bringing them water.

Toward the end of the night when Genevieve starts to feel better Louis’ feels relief flood through his body, because hopefully he won’t have much longer than two days to endure of this too. Harry takes her to her bedroom, tucking her into her freshly made bed and pulling the covers up so she’s nice and warm.

“Harry will you read to me like Daddy usually does?” Genevieve asks, her voice tiny and hopeful. She reaches over to her nightstand and grabs the Robert Frost book, her fingers running down the spine as she waits for an answer.

“Of course,” Harry smiles, and she’s happy as ever when she thrusts the book into his hands. “Robert Frost, huh? Which one should I read?”

Genevieve brings a hand up and taps a finger to her chin a couple of times before shrugging. She doesn’t know many poems, only the couple her father has read to her the past few nights. “You choose!”

“Okay, how about we go with Once by the Pacific?” Harry asks.

“Sounds good,” she approves, so Harry doesn’t take his time before starting.

"The shattered water made a misty din.

Great waves looked over others coming in,

And thought of doing something to the shore

That water never did to land before.

The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,

Live locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.

You could not tell, and yet it looked as if

The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,

The cliff in being backed by continent;

It looked as if a night of dark intent

Was coming, and not only a night, an age.

Someone had better be prepared for rage.

There would be more than ocean water broken

Before God’s last Put out the Lights was spoken.”

Harry takes a long breath after he’s done reading, and he holds it in, his thoughts cross processing with the air. He fingers slowly over the page distractedly before closing the book and handing it back to Genevieve.

“That was really pretty,” she whispers, and Harry nods. “Harry?”

“Yeah kiddo?”

“Can you tell me what it’s about?” She asks, and Harry feels his throat go dry, worried if he should tell her.

“The ocean, silly,” he tries, but she isn’t having it.

“I mean behind the words, Harry.”

“Right,” he sighs. “Um, you see, when Robert Frost was a little boy, his parents forgot him one time at the beach. So he was young and all alone, and there was a storm coming on the water, and he was scared.”

“Go on,” she encourages, wanting to hear more.

“Well, it turns out he was so scared that every time after that when he went to the beach with his parents, he was afraid that when his father went swimming that he wasn’t going to come back; that he was abandoning him.” Harry’s voice waves over the words, breaking off to take a breath.

He doesn’t know about what really happened with Genevieve’s mother, but he isn’t stupid, and from the conversation he had with Louis the day before, he knew more than surely that the woman had left without the intention of ever coming back. The poem was beautiful, really, but Harry hadn’t any idea that Genevieve would ask him about it. He was unsure if he should even be talking to her about this; afraid that he’ll hurt her, or upset Louis. But he gulps, finishing the story behind Once by the Pacific.

“But it was okay, because he would always see his father come back with the waves,” Harry concludes, decidedly leaving out the part all about the waves being at war with the land. He decided that was just about all the storytelling-or story explaining, rather-that he could handle for one evening.

“Thank you, Harry. Good night!” She says, turning onto her side, satisfaction written on her face. 

He gives her a kiss on the cheek and says goodnight softly before getting off the edge of the bed, and when he faces the door he nearly has a heart attack, seeing Louis perched up against the doorframe as though he were watching the two of them.

There’s something stirring inside Louis, and thankfully it is the farthest thing from having to throw up. When Harry steps out of the room, Louis shuts Genevieve’s door and turns his back on the other boy, heading down the hallway.

“How long were you standing there?” Harry asks warily.

“Since she handed you the book,” Louis says without turning around. 

He’s not sure what’s coming over him, maybe he’s just going crazy because he’s sick, but when the lightness in his head and the tingling in his bones becomes too much, he embraces not being able to think and control himself. He’s not sure why he does it, but he pivots on his heal and literally walks into Harry, his dry, chapped lips meeting the other boy’s, and his hands move up to grip his broad shoulders.

Just as quickly as he starts the kiss, though, he ends it, pulling back and running his fingertips down the length of Harry’s arms before dropping his hands to his sides.

“It’s a good thing you never get sick,” Louis laughs, and Harry blinks a few times at him before remembering to acknowledge the fact that he said anything.

“Oh, right, um. Yeah,” Harry stutters.

“It’s getting late,” Louis comments, and Harry nods, because he’s right, it is. 

He gathers his things in the kitchen and heads for the front door, Louis slowly but surely meeting him in the hall. “Goodnight, Louis.”

“Oh, Harry?” Louis says when Harry is mid-turn into his own flat. He looks back at Louis, waiting for him to go on. There’s a beat of silence between the two of them, and Louis can feel his pulse quicken when he says, “I’ll think about dinner.”

 

 

❖

 

 

It’s really not his fault that he kissed Harry, okay, and he should really stop stressing himself out over it because perhaps it wasn’t such a monumental mistake, after all. He should be a bit easier on himself, really. 

What did he think was going to happen after watching Harry spend his day waiting on them hand and foot, nursing them back to health? And then he put Genevieve to bed as though he’s done it a thousand times before, his mouth curving around the words he read in the most delectable way, his voice smooth and soft.

Sure, it was justified, but maybe Louis is being a little bit irrational. Not everyone is going to break your heart, and not everyone is going to run away. He may not know Harry very well, but it feels as though he’s been a part of their lives for far longer than what has. He took it upon himself to make welcome to Louis, and his daughter especially, and clearly he’s not going anywhere, no matter what Louis says or does to keep him at bay.

As clearly stubborn as the boy may be, Harry Styles cares, and Louis is finally letting himself think that it might not be such a bad thing to let him in, and let him stay.

So when Louis is getting ready for work the next morning and Harry comes knocking bright and early, Louis lets him, finding it wasn’t so hard to place a smile on his face at the boy from next door.

“You’re going to work? You’re still sick,” Harry says, which is true, and Louis might be a little regretful for a split second because he was hoping it wasn’t very noticeable and then the first thing this guy decides to point out is that apparently it is.

“Can’t really afford to take the day off,” Louis states, because he really can’t. Not with having to make his rent payment within the next week. “I hate to ask, but I don’t have time to bring her to Zayn’s, so…”

“It’s no problem,” Harry assures. “I, um, came over to bring her something before you left, actually. Where is Genevieve?”

“Watching tv, probably. I swear she’s addicted to cartoons; maybe I should put her in a sport or something,” Louis is mumbling, but by this point he’s not even listening to himself.

Harry heads for the living room with a little rectangle wrapped in brown paper, decorated with a little blue ribbon around it. He finds Genevieve sprawled out across as much of the length of the couch as her little body can cover, and when she sees Harry she jumps to sit upright.

“I brought you something, kiddo,” Harry smiles, handing her the package. She tries to shake it, but it doesn’t make any noise. She tries to tap it, but it’s thick and solid. She settles for pursing her lips, trying to figure out what it might be before she opens it.

“Okay munchkin, Daddy’s leaving,” Louis calls from the entryway, and Genevieve runs over to him, package in hand, and she gives him a tight hug around the waist.

“Look Daddy, Harry got me a gift!” She waves the thing between the two of them, and Louis looks over to eye Harry suspiciously.

“That’s very kind of you, Harry,” Louis says sweetly before looking back down to meet eyes with his daughter. “Open it, babe, I’ve got to hurry.”

So she doesn’t spend any more time contemplating what’s underneath the packaging, and she pulls the ribbon until it falls to the floor and rips through the brown paper until she finds she’s holding a book. The cover is off-white, and the pages are worn; it’s been ready many times before.

“What is it? What does it say?” She asks her father impatiently, turning to ask Harry the same question as well.

“It’s a collection of John Keats poetry,” Louis tells her, his chest growing tight with overwhelming fondness.

“It was my sister’s,” Harry tells Genevieve. “She gave it to me before she left for uni a few years ago. I’ve read it cover to cover, and now I want you to have it. Maybe your Dad can read some of it to you.”

Genevieve rushes to give Harry a hug and he scoops her up, the two of them falling back onto the couch. “Thank you Harry!”

“Not a problem, sweetie,” Harry smiles. He gives her a tickle and a winded laugh shrills out of her, and Louis manages to stick a goodbye in there once more before slipping out.

Yes, he thinks, he’s definitely made the right decision.

 

 

Harry has ultimately decided not to push Louis anymore; he was going to give him some time to think, and let the idea of a date prosper to him. So he stays for dinner, as per Genevieve’s request, and afterwards he decides to head home, leaving Louis to have some alone time with his daughter.

When it’s getting late, Louis tells Genevieve to wash up and crawl into bed, and he meets her there and takes his seat on the edge of the mattress. Genevieve hands him the Frost book, but Louis shakes his head.

“How about we read one from the book Harry gave you?” He suggests, and Genevieve decides that’s a great idea, so she reaches over and grabs that book off the night stand instead, handing it to her father. “How about we read Asleep! O Sleep A Little While White Pearl! tonight?”

“Sounds fitting for bedtime,” she approves, so Louis opens to the page it’s on and he thumbs over the faded text as he reads each word.

"Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!

And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,

And let me call Heaven’s blessing upon thine eyes,

And let me breathe into the happy air,

That doth enfold thee and touch all about,

Vows of my slavery, of my giving up,

My sudden adoration, my great love!”

When Louis takes his leave from her bedroom, he decides to brew some tea and he digs as far as he can into the back of his closet to find some old albums. There’s a layer of dust covering the books, and he wipes his hand over the vinyl, watching as the particles fall off and drift to the floor at his feet. With a steaming mug in hand, Louis sits at the kitchen table and flips open the first album, his eyes scanning the page, taking in each photo. It feels like it was a century ago, these old photos. 

One of his sisters; the four of them bunched, Louis in behind, trying to hug them all at once. He remembers back to times like these, when he was just a kid himself, and things were much simpler.

One from when he met her when they were just fourteen; freshmen in high school, waiting by his locker. He remembers asking one of his mates to snap a quick photo of them before class.

One of Zayn, who had intentionally tried to shy away from the lens of the camera, so the photo had caught a piece of his hand trying to block the shot. Louis laughs to himself quietly at Zayn’s distraught expression, as though it were a crime to take a photo of him.

A photo of his mother and father on their anniversary, a bottle of champagne and bouquet of flowers set on the table nearby. He missed his parents just like he missed his sisters. He needed to see them soon.

He closes that photo album and sets it to the side, opening the next. This one’s full of photos that are mismatched and out of order, the first one being of the dog he grew up with. Bruno, the big chocolate lab, was his best friend when he was younger. He was broken hearted when he found out that Bruno had run away, but now his heart just squeezes over a love he used to have for the dog he cherished in the photo.

The next was a picture from the day he’d went to the carnival with Zayn. They ate so much cotton candy that day, Louis isn’t quite sure how they didn’t get any cavities. They had spoken to a fortune teller; the crooked looking old lady flipped Louis’ hand and ran her fingers over the lines in Louis’ palm before she told him he would experience a great love in his future. She was right, Louis nods, there is nobody Louis is ever going to love even close to how much he loves his little girl. He’s got more love for her than he can even fit in his heart, and that is what Louis is sure is his great love.

Speaking of Genevieve, the next photo is of her mother. Gorgeous as ever at six months pregnant, Louis standing behind her with his hands on the round of her belly. He remembers being so excited to meet the little guy (or girl, apparently) that had been hiding in there. He also remembers being extremely scared, but excited nonetheless.

The one to follow is of Genevieve in her mother’s arms the very day she was born. Her mother in a hospital gown, hair matted to her face, baby bundled in a little blanket in her arms. 

Louis holds his breath, his chest expanded, his ribs threatening to give in. He closes the book and he brings them back to his room, shoving them back in the closet where they belong, slamming the door shut.

“Daddy?” A tired voice sounds, and Louis sighs, because shit, he didn’t mean to wake her up. Her door creaks open and she steps out into the light of the hallway, rubbing her eyes as they try to adjust.

“Sorry munchkin, I didn’t mean to make so much noise,” he says, bending down to meet her at eye level.

“Are you crying?” She asks, and Louis shakes his head, but she reaches a finger out to wipe his cheek dry, the tear drop collecting on her fingertip. She looks puzzled for a moment, not sure if she’s ever seen her dad cry before. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m okay, promise. Now back to bed, okay? It’s late.”

He waits until he can hear her soft snores again, and he wipes his eyes dry, because apparently he really was crying, and he heads out the door. He isn’t going far, knocking abruptly on Harry’s door. When it’s thrust open, Louis is welcomed by the same person who’d answered the very first night Louis came knocking here, and every time so far in between; that tall boy with the evergreen eyes and the moppy hair.

“Lou? Are you okay?” Harry asks, quite frankly a little worried, given his neighbour is red eyed and splotchy with tear tracks down his face at almost eleven o’clock at night.

“If you—” Louis begins, but he stops to wipe his tears away, hoping they wouldn’t replenish. “You’ve got to commit to this, if you want it. I know that’s a lot upfront, but I can’t have you flaking out, just like—she loves having you around, Harry, and this isn’t about us; you’ve got a bond with her you can’t break. I’m just afraid—”

“Louis,” Harry whispers, cutting Louis off. “If you spend too much time worrying over something bad happening you’ll prevent the good as well, or even worse, you’ll miss it.”

Louis’ breath is hitching, his heart beating—more like thumping—loudly in his chest. “But—”

“No, Louis, stop.” 

“What are your plans for the future, Harry?” The words crawl out of Louis’ mouth without his permission, and he sighs, wishing he could have just swallowed them down instead.

“Um, I’ve always fancied the idea of getting married one day. But I haven’t really spent a lot of time thinking about much else. I’m hoping the future will surprise me,” Harry admits. “Don’t want to get my hopes up, either.”

“Oh thank god,” Louis says under his breath, not sure if Harry could even hear him.

Harry leans in to press a kiss just below Louis’ eye, the salt of the last stray tear splashing against his lips. When Harry pulls back he sees Louis’ eyes are closed, and he reaches out to tuck a finger through the older boy’s belt loop, tugging him in closer and leading the way through the threshold.

“Harry, I don’t kn—”

“What did I say about being careful not to prevent the good from happening?”

Full well knowing Harry’s right, Louis’ protest slacks entirely and Harry rucks Louis’ body in so it’s right up against his own. Louis can feel their chests pressed together, and he’s never wanted anything so much as he wants to be rid of his clothes in that very moment.

The kiss starts slow and it tastes like the bittersweet mix of beer and tea. Louis bites down on one of Harry’s supple lips, sucking it into his mouth and teasing it between his teeth. 

Harry knew it wouldn’t be long before he was weak in the knees, so without breaking their mouths apart, he leads Louis through the flat, though they didn’t make it very far; stopping in the living room. Harry pushes Louis back onto the couch behind him, and as he stands there his eyes gaze over the beautiful man before him. Harry joins him on the couch, placing a knee on either side of Louis’ waist, and as he dives back in for the taste of Louis he grinds down on his groin, a jolt of pleasure heating through both of them.

Harry swipes across Louis’ teeth before their tongues collide, excitement exploding with the feel of blending together. Harry feels electric, the tips of his fingers buzzing like a live wire with the need to touch Louis everywhere all at once, and so he rolls his hips once more—eliciting a sensual sound from the back of Louis’ throat—before his fingers fumble to get Louis’ trousers unbuttoned.

Harry pulls back to look Louis in the eye as he tugs down the zipper on his pants, and when Louis’ head lolls back Harry decides he wants to leave marks on every inch of skin. He settles, though, for shuffling off of him and pulling his jeans and boxers to his ankles in one swift movement. Louis kicks them off to the floor and Harry places a firm hand on each of his legs and he kneels down before spreading them open, his hands growing clammy with anticipation and slightly slipping over Louis’ skin.

Harry presses kisses to the inside of Louis’ thighs, sucking bruises into the soft skin there, because Harry is adamant about leaving marks. His tongue trails over the love bites he’s embedded, navigating upward, causing Louis’ dick to twitch with the close proximity. 

Harry takes Louis’ cock in his hand, giving it a few light strokes before licking from base to top, his tongue teasing around the head and sliding over the slit. Louis’ body shudders, his shoulder blades digging into the cushions behind him as Harry’s tongue flicks over the tip of his erection.

“Don’t—ah, no,” Louis pants shakily. “Don’t tease.”

So, abiding by Louis’ words, Harry takes the length of Louis into his mouth and the friction of his lips as he bobs his head makes Louis squirm in his seat. Harry’s hands brace Louis’ thighs when his dick hits the back of his throat, and Louis twists his fingers in Harry’s hair, each tug on his curls giving off a sense of approval.

Louis is breathless and whiny when Harry’s hand pumps avidly at the base, and he has to bite down on his tongue so not to scream out when Harry’s tongue runs over the veins on the underside of his throbbing cock, and Louis does let out a gasp when Harry brings a hand up to thumb over the head as his tongue continues to work up the shaft ever-so-slowly.

Harry’s cheeks are pink and his eyes are glassy, and when he wraps his swollen lips around Louis’ cock to take him in again, Louis can’t help but buck up his hips, feeling the contraction of Harry’s throat as he swallows around him. Harry looks so good getting his mouth fucked like that that Louis’ hips snap up again, and he feels Harry dig his fingernails into his bare thighs.

“Harry, I’m c-close,” Louis says, the words just barely escaping his lips. Harry looks up at him, his green eyes watery as he nods, sucking down Louis’ length once more.

Louis’ toes curl into the carpet and his clenched fingers pull at the roots of Harry’s hair as he feels warmth radiating from his bones. His body twitches upward and he lets out the faintest cry of appreciation as he shoots white hot down Harry’s throat. When he’s finished the room is spinning, or maybe he’s spinning, who knows, but he’s much too light-headed to care.

Harry swallows once before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and when he stands up Louis doesn’t even try; at this point he wouldn’t even be able to recognize what upright is.

“I—um—Harry,” Louis stammers over the words he isn’t even sure he’s trying to say. “Wow. Just, um. Yeah. Wow.”

Harry snickers and falls back onto the couch beside Louis, rather pleased with himself to see the older boy so blissed out.

“Forget dinner, we can just do that,” Louis snorts. “A lot.”

“How about dinner and a lot of that,” Harry suggests. His voice is cheeky and Louis likes it, he likes it a lot. 

“Yeah, that sounds nice too.”

 

 

❖

 

 

When Saturday rolls around again Louis welcomes the sunshine of the early morning and he wraps himself tighter in his bed sheets, smiling into the pillow when he feels his daughter jump up onto the bed.

"What are we doing today Daddy?" Genevieve asks, her voice still a bit groggy from just having woken up.

"I'd reckon just about nothing," Louis tells her, and she smiles, because she knows what that means. "How about it?"

Genevieve giggles with delight, because of course that's her favourite way to spend a Saturday. She curls into Louis' side and he wraps his arm around her little body and they spend a while just laying in bed, sharing bad jokes and talking about everything and nothing.

Around noon hour Louis orders pizza (just cheese, of course, because she's a picky eater and getting her to try anything else on her pizza is always a battle lost) and they pop in a movie (The Little Mermaid, of course, their favourite) and they sprawl across the couch, their legs met in the middle, a slice of pizza in hand.

"Can we watch Pinocchio now?" Genevieve asks when The Little Mermaid comes to a close, and Louis isn't sure, because she always gets scared halfway through this movie.

"I guess," he says, and he gets up to put the next DVD in, and then he gets comfy back on the couch and Genevieve shuffles over to get comfortable on his lap. Her little legs are crossed over his knees, and he plays with her hair as she watches the film, laughing every time the little boy's nose grows.

"He should start listening to Jiminy!" She tells Louis, scolding the puppet-boy.

When Honest John and Gideon find Pinocchio and Jiminy, Genevieve stops laughing at the boy with the long nose. When they convince him to go to Pleasure Island, she knows what's going to happen next, and she gets scared, like she does every time. When all the boys on the island start turning into donkeys she turns around and buries her head in Louis' chest, refusing to watch any more.

"Want me to turn it off?" He offers, and she nods a tiny bit, hugging herself in close to him. He reaches for the remote off the table and switches the television off, and he clambers to his feet with her in his arms.

"Where are we going?" She asks softly, and he doesn't answer right away, but she kind of figures it out when he sets her down on the edge of the kitchen counter.

"Here baby," he says brightly, opening up the fridge. "What do you say we make something for dinner?"

"Pancakes?"

"I think pancakes sound perfect," he grins and pulls the pancake recipe from where it's stuck to the fridge under one of those corny magnets with a picture of a kitten on it. Genevieve jumps down from the countertop and helps him get the ingredients they need in order as he calls them out.

"Oh no, Daddy, we don't have any sugar left!"

Louis gives her a curious look, wondering what exactly they should do about this predicament. He gives it a quick thought, and then he hands her the two eggs he's pulled from the fridge. "Hold on just a minute, I'll fix this."

He finds himself heading next door, giving a quick knock on Harry's door. Harry's face perks up at the surprise of seeing Louis, dimples making an appearance with his smile.

"Um, hi," Louis says. "I just came for some sugar."

"Sugar?" Harry asks. His voice is thick and sultry, and he places his hands on Louis' hips and pulls him in by the waist. Harry's lips are soft and Louis finds that when they meet his he can't help but smile into the kiss, a small throaty giggle escaping him.

"That's awfully sweet, but I meant like real, actual sugar," Louis admits. But before he can back up, Harry's pressing their mouths together once more before spinning and heading for the kitchen.

"Real, actual sugar it is then," Harry says as he spoons some into a tupper-ware container. "However, if you ever decide to use sugar as euphemism, I make a great neighbour who can give you some of that too."

"Cheeky."

"Yeah, well. Um, here you go," Harry hands him the container of sugar, and when Louis takes it from his hands their fingers brush and Louis lets the touch linger for a moment too long. He can still feel the burning touch of Harry's warm skin when he pulls back, clutching the sugar to his chest.

"We're uh, making pancakes. For dinner."

"Oh, very healthy," Harry comments.

"Every four year old's dream, right?" Louis tries. What he's really trying to ask is for Harry to come over, but there's a big ball of nervousness that captures the words before he can get them out. "How about you? Ever dreamt of pancakes for dinner?"

"See when I was a kid, my mum used to feed me vegetables instead of syrupy breakfast foods," Harry teases. "I can however, admit that it was but a dream."

"Well come on then," Louis says decidedly, thus making up Harry's mind for him. "Let's make everyone's dreams come true and have pancakes at six o'clock in the evening."

He turns for the door and he can hear the footfalls of Harry behind him, following him right into his own kitchen. Genevieve had gotten comfortable on the floor, her legs crossed, two eggs occupying the space of her hands.

"Look munchkin, I got some sugar!" Louis beams, setting the container on the counter and scooping her up off the floor. Over his shoulder she spots Harry, and she reaches out for his arms and Louis hands her off to him so he can get mixing the batter.

Harry takes to playing with Genevieve in the living room while Louis flips up some pancakes, and when he's done he meets them in there juggling three plates in his hands, some forks wedged in there somewhere and a bottle of syrup dangling from one of his fingers.

They eat on the couch in front of the telly (not watching any more of Pinocchio, that's for sure), and when Harry isn't looking Louis drowns his plate with syrup, to which he receives a played frown.

When they're done Louis stacks the plates in the kitchen sink and rejoins the other two in the living room where he finds they've started watching Finding Nemo. Turns out Dory is Harry's favourite movie character ever, and he likes to not only let out boisterous guffaws at everything she says, but he also likes to quote her for several minutes after the movie has finished, too. Genevieve loves it, though, and she gets a laugh out of his loopy fish-talk, and Louis finds the whole thing kind of cute.

They flip channels and find there's a sitcom on, and as the night goes on Louis finds it's getting a bit late.

"It's time for bed, sweetheart. Go get ready and I'll be there to tuck you in shortly," Louis tells Genevieve, and she crosses her arms over her chest, because Harry's there and she doesn't want to go to sleep. 

"I'm not tired yet!" She protests, and so Louis concludes he's going to have to make a compromise with her. She's got her little pouty face on, her bottom lip sticking out; it's the face she uses when she wants to get her way.

Louis sighs, "One more show, then bedtime."

"Fine," she huffs and turns her attention back to the tv.

When the sitcom ends, Harry stretches and helps Genevieve off the couch. "C'mon kiddo, Dad says bedtime."

"Will you put me to bed too?" She asks, blue eyes wide and shining.

"If that's what you want," Harry says, and she nods, thoroughly letting him know that of course that's exactly what she wants.

She changes into her favourite pyjamas and brushes her teeth and when she crawls into bed Louis comes into the room, Harry filing right behind him, opting to stand by her feet at the bedrail. When she hands Louis the book of Keats' work, she's already got it open to a certain page.

"How do you know what poem it is?" Louis asks, slightly worried. Last time he checked she didn't know how to read yet.

"Harry said it was his favourite," she tells him. "He bookmarked it for me the other day."

"Oh," Louis mumbles. Right, that sounds reasonable. He looks up to Harry as he announces, "Bright Star?"

Harry nods, and so does Genevieve, for that matter. So Louis goes on, fervently hoping not to butcher the poem of Harry's liking.

"Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--

No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel forever its soft fall and swell,

Awake forever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath

And so live ever--or else swoon to death."

Louis looks up again and finds that Harry's eyes are closed, still, even after he's finished reading. Louis notices the intake of breath, and he absolutely adores the sight of Harry and his reaction to the rhythmic words of poetry.

Genevieve smiles and rolls over on her pillow, content and comfortable and ready for bed. Louis gives her a kiss and Harry taps her feet at the end of the bed softly before saying goodnight, and when they leave her room Harry decides he's gonna get going.

"Can I get some sugar before you leave?" Louis asks with a wink as he walks Harry to his door.

"You've got quite the sweet tooth, huh?" Harry smirks, but he doesn't waste any time before diving in for Louis' lips, melding them with his own. When they part he finds he already misses the soft feel of Louis' kisses, so he indulges in one more before whispering goodnight against his lips and heading through his door.

 

 

❖

 

 

"I've got something for you!" Louis says excitedly as he gets to Zayn's door. His best friend is standing on the other side of it with his arms crossed. He shifts his weight to one side and Louis is sure he's only doing that to look sufficiently more broody and unimpressed.

"Hmm, does it happen to be about three feet tall and smarter than you?" Zayn asks. Right on queue Genevieve pokes out from behind Louis' legs and jumps at Zayn. He was prepared though and he scoops her up into his arms, and she maneuvers herself all the way around his body until she's nestled comfortable on his back with her arms around his neck and her little head peeking over his shoulder.

"Much cuter than me too," Louis smiles and sets down the bag of her things at his friend's feet. "Oh well, I've got to get going, thanks Zaynie."

"Louis I never agreed to this," Zayn sighs. "You can't just drop your child off and run away!"

"Watch me," Louis sticks his tongue out at Zayn, but it's Genevieve that returns the silly gesture. "Also, you're keeping her for the night. Big plans, big plans."

A quick kiss goodbye (for both of them) and Louis is leaving. He's hopping in his car and jumping in his seat the whole ride home, the radio up on full blast. He's nervous of course, but mostly excited. His date with Liam wasn't anything over the moon, but if he must say, he's got great expectations for tonight.

Things have been so much better since he stopped trying to push Harry away; so much easier with him being around, and wanting to be there, at that.

Louis keeps this in mind as tries his best not to get overwhelmed by pre-date nerves and he shrugs a nice shirt over his shoulders and clasps the buttons down his chest, tucking it into his trousers and fastening a belt around his waist.

He's standing in front of the bathroom mirror when he pretty much has a meltdown. He's spent almost twenty minutes trying to style his hair, but it doesn't want to agree with him, and he isn't having much more of this. So he runs his fingers through it and he gives up, settling for how he wears it every day, because there's not much else he can do and there's really no use in getting flustered over it.

He's brushing his teeth when there's a knock at the door, so he spits and rinses his mouth out and he sprints to answer it, flinging the door open to that lovely little neighbour of his.

"You're late," Louis says as he checks his watch with a cocked eyebrow. It reads precisely 7:02.

"Um, yeah, sorry. Traffic was terrible?" Harry humours, and when Louis laughs it's mostly because that was genuinely one of the worst jokes he's ever heard.

Louis invites Harry in for a bit before they leave, as their reservations aren't until eight o'clock. After a glass of wine and a few exchanged words, they decide they should get going. Harry suggests they walk, leaving him to lead the way of course, as he wouldn't tell Louis where they he had made their plans to go. They cross downtown, feet padding across the bricked roadside, hands brushing here and there throughout the brisk walk.

"We're here," Harry says, coming to an abrupt stop. He snags Louis' hand and pulls him in, leading him through the big palace-like doors.

"Harry," Louis breathes when he takes in the old brick walls, the dim lighting, and the cobblestone floors. The place feels rustic and ancient, as though the restaurant itself was an antique.

"Two for Styles," Harry tells the maitre'd, who noses through the reservation book before nodding once. He gestures with the pull of a finger for the two of them to follow him through the restaurant. 

Louis doesn't know what he expected, but it definitely wasn't for the man to lead them through big glass doors at the back and to a beautiful table outside on the terrace. 

The table itself is a piece of art, intricate flowers worked through and about the iron, surfaced by a thick layer of frosted glass. There were small crystal bowls in the center of the table, tiny tea light candles floating in water within them, and a few lovely flowers tucked into a vase in the middle.

The maitre'd pulls out Louis' chair, and before he can tuck it in, Harry swoops in. "I can take it from here, thanks," he tells the man, and helps Louis take his seat. Harry takes his seat across from Louis, and as soon as the man had left, a waitress in a long black skirt swooped in and handed them menus, telling them the specials as she filled their water glasses to the brim.

"Harry," Louis breathes again, completely aghast by the beauty of the evening the other boy has orchestrated. Louis trips over his words again, unsure of what else to say, and Harry just beams him a delighted smile.

"I was hoping you'd like it?" Harry gives a small chuckle, to which Louis is almost dumbfounded.

"Like it? Harry, this place is beautiful. I had no idea--"

Another waitress comes to the table, her skirt flowing around her legs with the breeze of her step. In one hand she's holding a chilled bottle, and in the other is two champagne flutes. "Good evening," she greets. She pops the bottle open and fills the glasses half way, setting one in front of each of them before placing the bottle of Granzamy Pére on the table. "I'm Emma, and I'll be your waitress for the evening. Is there anything else I could get you to start off?"

She ends up leaving them to look through their menus for a couple of minutes, and as Louis is reading over the seemingly Italian menu, he notices light notes drifting into the air around them. He looks over his shoulder to find where the sounds are coming from, and he sees a small band of musicians; a group of men in black suits with sheet music and a cello, guitar, violin and keyboard busy filling the night with music.

The waitress comes back to take their orders, Louis deciding on Chicken Parmesiana, and Harry on Linguine Pollo Al Pesto. When they're alone again, Harry reaches across the table and rests a hand over Louis', and Louis can feel his heart stutter in his chest. He takes a sip from his champagne flute, the bubbles bursting all the way down his throat.

The evening is growing darker, and Louis notices how nice the sky is tonight. He can make out stars between the clouds, and when darkness approaches, small twinkle lights turn on and decorate the iron fence around patio. Louis has never seen so much beauty in one place before, and all he wants to do is reach across the table and kiss Harry; show Harry how grateful he is for all of this, because he did it all for him.

Tonight is perfect, he decides. Tonight is perfect and Harry is perfect, and he might have had great expectations to begin with, but everything so far has exceeded them. Louis' swallows down the lump in his throat when he comes to realize that nobody has ever done anything so nice as anything Harry does for him and his daughter. He moves his fingers ever so slightly, sliding them in between Harry's; a gentle gesture to let him know that not only is the night special, but he is too.

When dinner is served, Harry insists on Louis trying a bite of his pasta. Well, this leads to Louis offering a forkful of his meal to Harry, and they basically do that back and forth until their plates are cleared and they've eaten a significant amount of each other's dinner.

The waitress comes back to clear off the table and she hands each of them a small cup of espresso, the coffee steaming up and melting into the air around them. She sets a small plate with a slice of tiramisu on it between them, laying down two forks as well before giving them a smile and leaving them be. Louis takes the first bite, and he's pretty sure he melts the moment he tastes it, and he chuckles when he reaches across the table to feed Harry a bite, hearing him moan around the spongy coffee flavoured dessert.

Louis is full, so full that he's loathing with regret for letting Harry talk him into walking there. He's almost one hundred percent sure he's not going to make the walk back when Harry pulls him up from his seat. But, oh, they're not leaving. Not yet, at least. Harry takes Louis' hand and leads him to where the terrace is vacant of any tables, and he pulls him in nice and close.

Under the shine of the moon and the fairy lights around them, Harry pulls Louis in to dance. He's got on hand on his hip and the other clasped with Louis', their feet shuffling somewhat out of sync with the soft music playing around them.

"Harry, I can't dance," Louis blushes, leaning forward so his forehead is pressed against Harry's shoulder.

"Just follow my lead, yeah?" Harry monopolizes. And Louis does just that, giving in and letting Harry take over.

Harry's hand slides and his fingers press into the small of Louis' back, bringing him in closer yet. Louis breathes into Harry's neck in the warmth of the beautiful night as they sway around to the soft music, their hands linked and pressed chest to chest. 

After a handful of minutes, Harry starts to hum the tune of the song under his breath, quiet enough so that only Louis can hear it; the harmonious sound buzzing through Louis, sparking every ounce of desire within him.

"What do you say we head out of here?" Louis propositions, not that he would have minded dancing a little longer.

Louis can see the distinct bob of Harry's adam’s apple as he lets out a throaty noise, and Louis takes that as the affirmative, so he presses a quick kiss to Harry's neck before pulling back and taking his hand. If you asked him, Louis wouldn't be afraid to admit he was sporting a semi the whole walk home, hand in hand with Harry, his body practically vibrating with anticipation.

They barely make it to the door. They're pressed up against the wall between each of their flats, lips refusing to part, hands frantically searching pockets for keys. Harry is far too frustrated and doesn't have the patience to key-search anymore, so he gives up just as Louis gets a hold of his.

Once they're through the door they practically trip over each other in their haste to get to the bedroom. Harry's lips haven't left the base of Louis' neck at all down the stretch of the hall, and when they walk into Louis' room Harry pushes him down onto the bed, crawling up to join him there without a moment's thought.

He's got a leg on either side of Louis' waist, and Louis reaches up to help Harry tear off his shirt. He's just got the clasp of his trousers undone when Louis is flipping them over so he's straddling Harry now, taking off his own shirt before helping Harry shimmy out of his pants beneath him. He gets up for a fraction of a second to peel off both his trousers and underwear in one shot, kicking them somewhere behind him. Before Louis gets back on the bed he reaches out and pulled at the elastic of Harry's boxers, and Harry, who just wants out of the restraining piece of cloth, can't help but whimper at Louis' teasing.

"Please, just," Harry says, but his voice fades out as he finds himself nodding with delighted approval when Louis starts to tug his underwear down his thighs. Harry's cock is already hard and flush against his stomach, like Louis' own, he notices. 

Standing above Harry as he tries to maneuver the cloth of his underwear off from around his ankles, Louis can't help but run his tongue over his bottom lip and pump his hand suggestively down the length of his erection. Harry sits up and places a hand on either side of Louis' waist, and he pulls him back onto the bed. Louis' mouth, desperate for the taste of Harry, kisses over the other boy's jaw until he finds his lips. Their cocks grind together as he pushes himself up, and Harry's fingernails dig into Louis' hips.

Harry's hand plunges and he grabs both of their cocks in his hand and he jerks the two of them steadily, their kisses getting sloppier, their breathing getting heavier. Louis bites down on Harry's bottom lip once before asking, "Did you want to..?"

"Yes, please, yes," Harry practically begs, his lips ghosting over Louis' jaw. Louis can feel Harry's hot breath tickle his skin, and he presses one more kiss to Harry's lips before bending over to the bedside table, searching for lube and a condom in the top drawer.

Louis shimmies down the bed and single-handedly parts Harry's legs before crawling between them. He puts a dollop of lubricant on the tip of his index and he braces the softest part of Harry's thigh with one hand, his other reaching out to place his slippery finger pad against Harry's entrance. He circles his finger around once or twice, Harry's hips twitching slightly, and then he's pushing in.

He's slow at first, his finger gradually penetrating deeper into Harry. Harry's curls are splayed out against the pillow and his eyes are shut tight, crinkling at the sides with pleasure as Louis starts thrusting his finger in and out. When Louis asks if he wants more, Harry can't say yes fast enough.

First he's adding a second digit, thrusting a few times before scissoring carefully, opening him up further. "More," Harry tries, but it comes out like a little squeak and Louis wants to kiss him some more, wants to swallow the beautiful sound. 

When he adds his third finger, Harry's chest looks laboured; he gasps and holds his breath before letting it all out at once. He's slower at first, until Harry's hips start thrusting downward to meet his knuckles. As Louis' fingers work Harry's hole, he bends down to kiss the base of Harry's stomach, his lips trailing upward in time with the movement of his hand.

Louis' tongue flicks over one of Harry's nipples, and he curls his fingers inside him, and Harry's eyes pop open, blinking up at the ceiling as warmth pools in his stomach. "Now, Lou, I'm ready n-now."

Louis doesn't hesitate, he pulls his fingers out of his writhing partner, pulls a condom on and lathers the lubricant over his length. He lines himself up with Harry's entrance, and he places a hand on the mattress on either side of Harry's head to brace himself up, and as he's pushing in Harry's hands find Louis' wrists.

"You okay?" Louis whispers, and Harry swallows thickly before nodding.

"Uh, yeah," he says. He's sweating and Louis wants to push his matted curls off his forehead. "Go."

On command, Louis' hips pull back before quickly thrusting back in, picking up a slow but steady routine. Harry's hands are still curled around Louis' wrists, his fingers pressing bruises into his skin and Louis' lips capture his and Harry moans into his mouth.

Louis' hips snap a particular way and Harry bites down on Louis' supple, now swollen lip; waves of pleasure coursing through his whole body and washing up against his skin. "Do that—” Harry's voice is broken by a moan. "Again."

Louis does as he's told, and Harry's eyes roll back with the sensation, Louis repeatedly thrusting against that sweet spot. Harry wraps his arms around Louis' back now, trying to bring them closer together. His hands slide over Louis' shoulder blades and find home at Louis' sides just below his ribcage. 

Harry can feel the friction of both their moving bodies against his swollen cock and he reaches one of his hands between them to pump the shaft, but Louis knocks Harry's hand away, now propping himself up on just on elbow. He grinds his palm softly over Harry's erection before moving his hand in time with his thrusts, stopping only to thumb over the head, teasing the slick slit.

“So close,” Harry whines, the warmth building up in the pit of his stomach, his toes curling and his bones quaking.

It doesn't take much more than that; Louis bucks his hips once more and sends Harry into complete euphoria, coming in strings of white over his stomach. At the sight of Harry's climax, Louis rides out his own orgasm before rolling over and falling boneless next to Harry on his bed.

Their panted breaths are the only sound throughout the whole apartment. They lay there for a few moments, the rising and falling of their chests filling the room as they revel in their bliss.

Louis gets up to grab a washcloth and he wipes Harry down before he cleans off where it had smeared over himself, and he tosses the cloth into the hamper and pulls his boxers back on before tossing Harry his own and crawling back into bed next to him.

Their legs tangle in the sheets and Louis curls up nice and close to Harry, who plays with and scratches at the hair at the back of Louis' head. Louis is glowing with fondness for Harry, and lucky for him, Harry looks back at him with the same adoration swimming in his irises. 

"Thank you. For everything, I mean," Louis mumbles softly against the warm skin of Harry's ribcage. He's staring into the eyes of the comedy and tragedy theatre masks that are inked into his skin there, and he would admit that yes, they're a little weird, but so is Harry.

"No, thank you," Harry jokes, his sweet laughter bubbling up behind his words.

"Really, Harry. Everything was so, so beautiful."

"Would you be up for it again, then?" Harry's voice falls without laughter now, a serious but hopeful look on his face, pulling up at the corners of his lips.

"Of course," Louis whispers. "But we don't have to do anything so extravagant, you know. I'm a simple person. I don't need fancy, really. I just need you."

"Louis Tomlinson, you are the farthest thing from a simple person," Harry retorts, but he's smiling wide and pulling Louis in closer.

"Shut up."

 

 

Louis doesn't know what time of the morning it is, but his body clock tells him it's likely that the sun has just barely risen and that he should not be up this early. But he can't help it, there's something moving on the bed, and it's pulled him from his sleep.

The first thing he notices is Harry, beside him. His hair is laying limp against the pillow, and he's sleeping with his mouth open, his eyelashes lying ridiculously against his cheekbones. Louis wants to kiss him, but he can't, because there's something squirming between them? And he looks down to find his daughter is trying to make herself cozy between the two of them, trying her hardest not to wake them, but failing.

"Daddy!" She shouts when she sees Louis awake. Harry jolts up in shock, blinking furiously to clear his sleep blurred vision, and Louis giggles. "You and Harry had a sleepover!"

"Um," Louis voice is thick and groggy, and he runs his hands over his face. "Yeah munchkin, we did."

"Wait, how did you even get here?" Harry asks, unsure of where Genevieve even was all night, and how she's suddenly home. The answer to that question walks right into the room, clad in a leather jacket.

"Genevi--oh fuck," Zayn grumbles. "Christ, Louis."

"Shhh," Louis hisses at his friend, covering his daughter's ears. 

"You must be Harry," Zayn says with a little smile. "Sorry, but I have a list of things that I never want to see, and Louis in bed is at the very top. So, uh, yeah. I'll be going now."

Harry laughs, grabbing his pillow to muffle his cackles, and Louis elbows him in the side, making him laugh even more.

"C'mon kid," Zayn says, scooping Genevieve off the bed. When they're in the hall, he better explains himself, shouting to Louis in the bedroom, "She spilt chocolate milk all over herself last night, so we need another change of clothes. I would say sorry, but the only way I'm going to get the image of you two out of my head now is if I burn my brain, so really, I think you owe me an apology."

Genevieve throws one of her favourite shirts at Zayn before running back into her Dad's room, where she inevitably walks in on him pressing a chaste kiss to Harry's lips. She doesn't know what to do, but she settles on coughing subtly before running to Louis' side of the bed.

"Does this mean you said yes to him?" She asks softly, though Harry can still hear her little voice.

"Yes, I did," he nods, full well knowing Harry is listening to their quiet conversation.

"Was it nice?" She presses, her thousand watt smile literally lighting up the room.

"It was wonderful," he smiles.

"Good. I have to go, but look Daddy! Uncle Zayn gave me a tattoo!" She pulls up the sleeve of her shirt to show him the little smiley face Zayn drew there in marker. "Doesn't it look just like his?"

"Oh yeah," Louis nods, however he isn't very impressed. He'll be washing that off tonight, that's for sure. "Okay, Daddy's got to get ready for work now, so go on munchkin."

She presses a kiss to Louis' cheek and makes her way to the other side of the bed, giving Harry a kiss goodbye too before Zayn takes her back to his place.

"Do you really have to get ready for work?" Harry groans, wrapping his arms around Louis' waist and throwing his leg over him too, essentially clinging to him like a koala.

"Unfortunately I do," Louis sighs. "You can go back to sleep if you want. Or you can join me in the shower. Your choice."

"Not really my choice," Harry shakes his head, floppy hair flying about. He pulls the sheets off of them and swings his legs off the side of the bed. "You just made my mind up for me."

 

 

❖

 

 

Summer is approaching and the small family that are Louis and Genevieve find they've got an addition. Harry still rents the flat next door, but he finds himself more often than not at Louis', curled up on the couch or tucking Genevieve into bed.

He goes back to his own place once in a while, but he doesn't stay for long, using his old credit card trick to jiggle the lock and get back in where he's more than comfortable. Louis catches on and hands Harry a key one day.

"Are you sure?" Harry asks, holding the brass key in his hand.

"Whether I give you the key or not you can still get in here," Louis says with a smirk. "I didn't do it for that, Harry. I did it for what giving you the key signifies."

"Oh."

"Come here," he pulls Harry in and tangles his fingers in his hair, their lips brushing softly. The kiss grows gradually more languid, but they break apart when they hear Genevieve coming down the hall.

 

 

❖

 

 

In the summertime Harry likes to go berry picking. It doesn’t take much for him to convince Louis to go with him on his day off, and so the three of them head to the little blueberry patch that Harry visits annually. It’s about an hour away, but it’s well worth the drive because the berries are delicious.

They spend the afternoon in between the bushes picking blueberry after blueberry until all of their baskets are full. Their fingers are stained purple by the time they’re done, and Louis is just about positive that Genevieve has eaten more of them then she’s actually placed in her basket. It’s easy to tell, considering her mouth is stained purple as well.

They’ve picked so many blueberries that when they get home Harry doesn’t even think twice about pulling out one of his mum’s old recipes, and he scoops up Genevieve and insists she help him bake a fresh blueberry pie for dessert.

Louis is ousted from the kitchen for obvious reasons, and Genevieve is propped up on the counter, swinging her legs back and forth with delight, repeatedly kicking the cupboard doors with her heals.

There are ingredients for the pie crust thrown across the counter, and Genevieve really just wants to play with the dough a little bit, so Harry gives her a stool to stand on and a rolling pin, and she’s put in charge of that. 

She rolls it out thinner than necessary, so when Harry is done preparing the blueberry filling he helps her fix it up and he places it in the pie dish. Genevieve helps him fill it with the syrupy blueberries and they place the top of the pie shell on top. She’s ecstatic when Harry hands her a fork and tells her to go crazy making a design in the dough around the circumference of the pie, though she sticks to what’s easy and traditional.

Next thing you know Harry is popping the pie in and out of the oven, letting it cool on the counter after it’s finished cooking, the smell wafting through the flat. No matter how childish it sounds, Louis has always loved pie, and he would shamelessly admit that all throughout dinner he was thinking about finishing up as fast as he could so he could have dessert.

It’s more than needless to say that it was delicious, and although they were full, Genevieve was bugging Harry and her father to take her berry picking again sometime.

 

 

❖

 

 

Louis comes home from work one day, Genevieve in tow, to find his flat empty. That's unusual, as it's usually inhabited by his lanky boy sprawled across the couch, or making dinner for them in the kitchen. 

Instead he finds a vase on his kitchen table housing a bunch of pretty flowers and a note folded up on the table beside it. He opens the card to read that Harry had to run out of town for the day, something or other about his friend needing him, and that he'd be back tomorrow. The note was signed with Harry's name and a countless amount of kisses to follow it.

Louis frowns slightly at the cardstock in his hand before he tosses it back to the table and leans in to smell the flowers.

"Can I smell Daddy?" Genevieve asks from beside him, much too short to reach them. Louis picks her up and brings her close to the bouquet, and she makes a point to smell them all. "Mmm, pretty!"

"You got pollen on your nose, munchkin, hold on," he says as he dusts the yellow from the tip of her nose before setting her back on the floor. "Harry's away for the night, so it's just the two of us. What do you say we have for dinner?"

"Chocolate," Genevieve says decidedly. She's sure of this and she's bold about it, like she's put much thought into it. Louis shakes his head, quite frankly a little freaked out, watching his daughter subconsciously mimic Harry's mannerisms.

"Try again," Louis says, disapproving of chocolate for dinner.

"Chocolate...covered strawberries," she compromises.

Well, fruit is nutritious. And taking that into consideration, chocolate covered strawberries don't sound so bad after all.

The night passes seamlessly, both content with their dinner, and when Louis tucks Genevieve in that night she asks him to read her A Boundless Moment.

"He halted in the wind, and--what was that

Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?

He stood there bringing March against his thought,

And yet too ready to believe the most.

'Oh that's the Paradise-in-bloom,' I said;

And truly it was fair enough for flowers

Had we but in us to assume in March

Such white luxuriance of May for ours.

We stood a moment so in a strange world,

Myself as one his own pretense deceives;

And then I said the truth (and we moved on).

A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves."

And Louis is woken up far earlier than he needs to be for work the next morning by a happy boy with untamed hair and a smile too bright for the early hour. He's bearing breakfast, though, so Louis doesn't complain and he lets Harry feed him breakfast in bed.

"Sorry about just taking off yesterday," Harry says softly. He doesn't want to say much, but he does feel bad for just leaving without a word.

"Harry," Louis says with a rolls of his eyes. So it seems, over the past couple of months, Louis and Harry have filled the cracks in each other, and know the other better than they probably should.

"It's just, my friend Niall called," Harry begins. "And he's going through a rough break up, so I had to go back for the day, Lou. That's what that was about, I promise."

"Harry," Louis says more seriously this time. "Stop, please. It's not--that's not--you can do what you have to do, yeah? I wouldn't hold anything against you, ever. But either way it's not the same. You're not the same."

"You got my flowers, right?"

"Yes. They're beautiful, Harry."

"I just didn't want you to think I was going anywhere," Harry sighs, nestling further into the bed beside Louis. He steals Louis' fork and takes a bite, and he's got a mouth full of food when Louis kisses his lips soft and quick.

"I know quite well that you wouldn't."

"You're stuck with me forever," Harry tells him honestly.

"Fortunately," Louis grins.

 

 

❖

 

 

A few weeks go by and it's a Wednesday night and Harry is unlocking the door with his credit card, the shiny key keeping its place in his pocket. Old habits are hard to drop, he guesses. He can hear the music already, blasting loudly through the walls, seeping between the tiny cracks between the door.

He walks in, closing the door behind him, and he and follows the music to the source, though he's already well aware it's coming from the living room. Sure enough he sees the coffee table pushed aside, and a couple of monkeys in there.

Louis' dancing with his back to Harry, his arms flying about the same way that Genevieve's are from where she's grooving out to the music across from him. The two of them are laughing as they dance, the music filling the room (and half of the building) around them.

Harry is leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches the two of them dance freely and carelessly, looking happy as ever. 

This is when Harry knows. Sure, he's probably known all along, but this is when he really does, and it's overwhelming, the idea of it crawling beneath his skin. He itches to tell Louis just how much he loves him, is in love with him. He itches to tell Louis just how much he adores his daughter, and how much he wants to spend his life with the two of them, and watch her grow up.

There's a smile on his face wider than probably possible when Genevieve spots him, and she doesn't explain to her father where she's going as she scurries away, so he whips around quickly to follow her. His face flushes red with embarrassment when he realizes Harry was in the room, because really, his dancing is shameful. But Genevieve doesn't miss a beat; she grabs Harry's hand and pulls him into the centre of the room with them, and soon Harry is dancing too.

Louis shrugs, because to hell with it, and he lets loose again, being silly with the two people he cares about most in this world. Genevieve's hand is still in Harry's, their arms swaying between them, and he pulls her in, wrapping it around her carefully before releasing and spinning her back out. She twirls gracefully to the music and releases Harry's hand, waiting for him to spin her Dad, which of course, he does.

Louis' twirl isn't nearly as graceful as Genevieve's, but as Harry curls Louis into the crook of his arm, he holds the spin for a beat to hold Louis in close against his chest and he whispers, "I love you, you know that?"

Louis spins out again but he keeps a hold of Harry's hand, pulling him in just the same. When Harry spins freely into Louis' arm, Louis hums against his neck before whispering back, "Yeah, I really do.” 

And Harry is twirling back out, self-proclaiming the title of happiest man ever, and he turns from Louis to pick up Genevieve, who gets comfortable on his hip against his side. She's starting to think this is her second favourite place in the world.

Still latched onto Harry, she reaches out for her father, and Louis wraps his arms warm and tight around the both of them. “I love you too.”

 

 

❖

 

 

Summer was disappearing just as fast as it had snuck up on them. Before Louis knows it he is taking Genevieve shopping for things for school. 

Harry comes with them, of course, and he is a strong influence which backpack that she's picked out. Louis finds it to be completely distasteful, but who knew Harry had such a thing for purple unicorns, and who knew his daughter would find that fascination contagious?

And of course, Harry convinces Genevieve to get the matching lunch pail and Louis doesn't say anything because Genevieve absolutely loves them and apparently now she loves big purple unicorns just as much as (if not more than) Harry.

She picks out a pretty red dress, simple and cute, and a pair of black tights to go with it for the first day. Louis is relieved with the sense of familiarity, his daughter picking out something he not only approves of, but would have expected her to favour over the rest of the selection. 

Louis finds it’s rather easy to go shopping with Genevieve; it’s Harry that’s quite difficult, but that goes unsaid. After they’ve finished purchasing everything Genevieve needs for school, Louis decides he’s happy it’s over with and that he’s not going to dwell on his little munchkin growing up, pushing the thoughts of her going off to school all on her own right from his mind.

They go out for supper after their little spree, letting Genevieve pick the restaurant. She picks a small burger joint not too far from where they live, and she’s sitting at the small table across from her father with a plate of greasy fries and a cheeseburger bigger than her little hands can handle held between her fingers. She’s mid-bite when her face drops from behind her food and she mutters, “Uh oh.”

“Something wrong?” Harry asks, an eyebrow raising in question. Genevieve’s eyes fleet between the two of them, equally curious as she is worried.

“Um,” she mumbles before setting her food down. Something small falls to her plate, tinkering on the ceramic, and she picks it up, revealing the little tooth in the palm of her hand to the two of them.

“You lost a tooth?” Louis asks, feeling quite sure that he’s going to pass out. She lost a tooth, she’s going to school, the next thing he knows she’s going to be moving out. No.

“Smile, kiddo!” Harry cheers, leading by example, obviously, with the grin he’s sporting.

Genevieve flashes them a big smile, showing off the gap where her front tooth should be. She runs her tongue over the empty space and giggles softly because it feels weird.

“Make sure you don’t lose it,” Louis manages. “You’re supposed to put it under your pillow before bed tonight.”

“Why?” Genevieve asks, clenching her fingers to encase her tooth.

“The tooth fairy!” Harry says excitedly. “She collects it while you’re sleeping in trade for a coin.”

Genevieve accepts this, it seems reasonable. So she hands the tooth to her father and he pockets it, making sure to hand it back to her before bed.

She has a hard time brushing her teeth that night, not used to the now empty space. She looks in the mirror and sticks her tongue in there, laughing at how silly her reflection looks. Louis tells her to hurry up and so she rinses and runs to her room and get comfortable on her bed. When Louis hands her the tooth she lifts up her pillow and places the tooth on her mattress, covering it right away so it doesn’t get lost.

Harry takes his seat at the foot of Genevieve’s bed, where he always sits to hear Louis read, and Louis is perched by where she lays, and the poem they’ve decided on for tonight is from the Keats book, and it’s called On a Dream.

“As Hermes once took to his feathers light

When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon’d and slept,

So on a Delphic reed my idol spright

So play’d, so charm’d, so conquere’d, so bereft

The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes,

And, seeing it asleep, so fled away:

Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,

Nor unto Tempe where Jove griev’d a day;

But to that second circle of sad hell,

Where ‘mid the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw

Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell

Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,

Pale were the lips I kiss’d, and fair the form

I floated with, about that melancholy storm.”

Louis folds the book closed and he sets it aside, kissing Genevieve goodnight before Harry does much the same. Louis has just turned the lights out, his fingers still hovering over the switch when Genevieve’s voice comes out small from beneath the sheets she’s covered in.

“What does the tooth fairy do with my tooth?”

She can see Harry’s silhouette cast from the light cast through her bedroom door from the hallway when he speaks, one hand placed on Louis’ shoulders. “She takes it back to her home, which is a big castle made of little teeth just like yours. It’s beautiful, really, all nice and pearly white.”

“Oh, okay,” she says before she lets out a yawn. Louis says goodnight once more before shutting her door and getting ready with the help of Harry to play the tooth fairy after his little angel falls asleep.

 

 

❖

 

 

On Genevieve’s first day of school Louis is probably more nervous than she is. He packs her a lunch with a bunch of healthy snacks that Harry would approve of, like carrot sticks and an apple. But because he’s also a self-proclaimed ‘cool dad,’ he packs her a cupcake too.

After her bath Louis combs her hair and puts it in braids before helping her into her new red dress and tights. Harry makes her breakfast while Louis gets himself ready and when he’s dressed for work he meets the two of them in the kitchen. He isn’t fooling anyone, Harry can tell he’s a nervous wreck.

“She’ll be fine,” Harry assures, mumbling the words against Louis’ lips before he kisses them. His arms are wrapped around Louis’ waist, tight and comforting, and he doesn’t let go after the kiss parts.

“He’s right,” she mumbles from where she’s sat at the kitchen table munching on a bowl of cheerios. Louis doesn’t get it; she doesn’t even seem the slightest bit nervous.

“But this is the first time she’ll be somewhere I can’t call to check up,” Louis pouts, leaning further into Harry’s embrace and Harry rubs a hand up and down Louis’ back softly.

“Remember the first time I watched her?” Harry laughs, but then his laughter stops and he looks at Louis seriously, or expectantly, rather. “Don’t even think of harassing the school with your phone calls.”

Louis frowns.

 “She’s going to have a great first day, I promise,” Harry says, kissing Louis once more. “And look at the time; you’ve got to bring her now.”

Louis slumps his shoulders and Genevieve runs to her bedroom and slides the little purple unicorn backpack over her shoulders. She twirls the end of her braid through her fingers as she walks down the hall and slides her shoes on by the front door, Louis doing the same.

“Wait hold on,” Louis says, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “We need a picture before the big day, yeah?”

So he lines Genevieve up in front of the door, making sure her hair is nice and that all the distasteful unicorns on her backpack are not visible, and then he bends down to her level and tells her to say “cheese!” and when he snaps the photo he looks it over, noting the toothless gap in her bright smile, and takes in a deep breath.

“Alright then, ready munchkin?” Louis asks.

“Where’s Harry?” She asks, her eyebrows creasing. Obviously there’s no way she could go to school on the first day without him.

She runs off, her little backpack bouncing with each step, hollering his name until she finds him in the living room. She grabs him by the hand and pulls him up off the couch. “Come on Dad, we’re gonna be late!”

Harry’s pretty sure he coughed up, choked on, and swallowed his heart all at once. Louis pokes his head in from the hallway, his heart beating rapidly. Genevieve is still pulling on Harry’s hand, but it’s almost like he’s forgotten how to walk. When he looks up, he meets eyes with Louis, but the first thing he notices is the big smile on his face that matches Harry’s own.

It takes a moment longer than it should, but when Harry somehow finds his voice, he manages, “Oh, um, yeah. I’m coming sweetheart, let’s go.”

 


	2. there's no turning back tonight we feel alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> louis is a not-so-single father and there's no denying it now, harry is an essential part of the family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this is a bit different, but i've decided instead of a series i will just make this a chaptered work. enjoy!

  By November of that year, Harry stops renting the flat next door. Apparently he’s got a lot of things, or so Louis learns after the two of them spend an entire day boxing up all of the books and clothes and trinkets Harry possesses. They bring the boxes over the next day, heaving breathlessly as they struggle to carry each one into Louis’ flat. Well, Louis and Harry’s flat. Genevieve is peeved when they tell her she wouldn’t be able to help move Harry’s stuff over, but she gains some satisfaction when they tell her she can help him unpack. 

The three of them fill up every corner of their home with Harry’s things, and when they look around, it feels right. Almost as if the place was incomplete without it beforehand. Their movie shelf is now lined with Harry’s rom-coms in between their collection of Disney’s greatest, there’s a photo of Harry’s sister that has made a place for itself under a magnet on the refrigerator, Harry’s toothbrush takes up room on the vanity, etc. and Louis wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Harry takes pity on Louis’ poor cooking skills and therefore takes it upon himself to make sure there’s ingredients for actual homemade recipes stocked in the fridge and pantry, not just the frozen chicken fingers Louis usually keeps in the freezer.

Louis learned quite a while ago that Harry likes to keep things neat, but after he officially moves in the place has never been cleaner. He comes to notice that it’s nothing less than habitual for Harry to find a place for everything, and as grateful for that as he is, it would be nice to know where his car keys are. 

Harry takes him to the key rack and points to the hook holding up Louis’ keys, saying, “Oh look at that, they’re where they should be.”

“How long has that thing even been there?” Louis asks, scratching the back of his head. He doesn’t exactly recall ever having a hook to hang his keys, as he’s known for just tossing them on the counter when he walks through the door.

“Louis there’s one in every flat, babe. It’s been there since before you even moved in,” Harry laughs, and he picks Louis’ car keys from the hook and dangles them in front of his face. Louis leans in for a kiss before swiping them from his boyfriend’s hand. “Have fun at work!”

“Fat chance,” Louis drones, kissing him once more before he leaves.

When he gets home that evening he absentmindedly throws his keys on the kitchen counter. It takes him a couple seconds to realize, but he silently reprimands himself and does take them over and hang the ring up on the hook.

 

 

❖

 

 

“I have a proposition for you,” Harry says as he walks into the living room one night. 

Genevieve is long in bed, and he’s just come out of the shower, his moppy hair fallen limp as it drips against his pale skin. He’s wearing a pair of Louis’ pyjama bottoms, and it’s quite obvious as they’re far too short for his long, long legs. Louis thinks it’s ridiculous, but cute nonetheless, and he opens up his arms so Harry can crawl onto his lap where he’s folded into the corner of the couch.

“You sound like the devil,” Louis laughs. “What might you want in trade for my soul?”

“It’s nothing like that. It’s just, my mum called today.”

“You’re prancing around the point here, Harold,” Louis calls him out, but Harry just shrugs. This seems like a rather simple concept, but Harry’s not sure how to conjure the words to phrase it.

“She wants to meet you?” Harry tells him, though the words come out more like a question than a fact. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but there are a lot of things about Louis that take him for surprise, and he just doesn’t know how opposed to the idea of blending families Louis might be.

“Oh.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Harry says quickly, following up with, “we don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t be stupid, Harry.” Louis places a quick kiss on Harry’s cheek. “She seems like a lovely woman, really. I would love nothing more than to meet your family.”

“Really?” Harry lets the word out and finds it laced with more happiness and excitement than he thought. He hadn’t really thought of it, to be honest, but now that the opportunity for Louis to meet his family has arisen, the prospect has him eager and delighted.

Louis nods, wrapping his arms tighter around his boy.

“They’ll love you, y’know. Might end up coercing us into moving to Holmes Chapel so they can keep us around forever. Don’t even get me started on how motherly my mum is, she’ll probably try to kidnap Genevieve and hound you for not feeding her enough vegetables.”

“Oh, I think she’s been eating enough greens. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been replacing the candies I put in her lunch with celery sticks. You’re like the sugar police, Harry, it’s sickening,” Louis scrunches up his nose and Harry kisses it softly.

“Yes, and you can thank me later when she doesn’t have any cavities,” Harry grins.

“I’m sure I will,” Louis sighs. “But if you think your family is going to love me, just wait until you meet my family. Fizz is probably going to have a seizure when she catches sight of your hair. Oh, and the twins with their tea parties—I’m going to owe you big time after you sit for hours on end sipping cold tea out of a cup so tiny that you can barely pinch it between your fingers.”

“You want me to meet your sisters?” Harry asks, his stomach is fluttering and he’s pretty much bouncing in Louis’ lap with glee.

“The whole dozen of ‘em.”

“Lou,” Harry peppers kisses all over his face, and Louis makes a wheezy attempt to breathe under the attack of Harry’s lips.

“You’re not going to be this excited when you meet them, really. In fact, they’ll probably kidnap you and then reclaim you as their brother and kick me to the streets. Mum will probably be an accomplice in this, hold you hostage as her son or something,” Louis says, envisioning Harry literally becoming a part of his family.

“I’d be honoured. Hope you don’t freeze to death out there,” Harry quips, and Louis tugs on one of his drying curls.

“We could do it over hols, yeah?” Louis suggests. “I have a week off work and Genevieve is out of school. Plus that way we can spend Christmas with our families.”

“That sounds perfect,” Harry tells him. He’s trying not to make it obvious, but he’s a bit antsy; he really can’t wait.

 

 

❖

 

 

Holmes Chapel is by far one of the loveliest places Louis has ever been. Harry is in the passenger’s seat, directing him where to go and which streets to turn onto. The buildings they pass by are old and the shops are quaint; he adores it all.

“Harry this place is gorgeous,” Louis tells him, staring out his window.

“Pay attention to the road!” Harry chastises. “The scenery can wait, babe. I think we should probably arrive alive.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles.

“This place is pretty!” Genevieve shouts from the back seat. Unlike Louis, she doesn’t have a steering wheel in front of her and a road to watch, so she’s got her hands and face pressed against the window, her breath fogging the cool glass between her and the town she wants to explore.

“I’ll humour you both and take you out later, deal?” Harry offers, and Genevieve claps her mitten-clad hands together with excitement.

“You’d better,” Louis snorts.

“Okay, take a left here. Yeah, and it’s three houses up there on your right,” Harry instructs, pointing to the little red brick house with the blue roof mostly covered in snow. There’s a bank of it beside the mailbox at the road, and Harry notices there are Christmas cards and decorative envelopes sticking out the little flap.

When Louis pulls up the drive Genevieve unbuckles herself from her booster seat early, more than anxious to get out of the car. Louis opens his door and steps out onto the snow covered ground and goes around to Genevieve’s door, letting her out.

She runs to the front door, glancing back once to see Louis popping the trunk open to get their things out, and Harry gathering everything piled up in the mailbox. She taps a few times on the hard front door, and she gets distracted by the snowflakes caught in her hair, barely noticing when Anne opens the door in front of her.

“Hello sweetie,” the woman smiles before her. “Who might you be?”

“Are you Harry’s mummy?” Genevieve asks, peering up at her. She has about a thousand things she wants to say, but she’s hesitant to let them roll off the tip of her tongue.

Harry runs up then, scooping Genevieve up with one arm. “C’mon kiddo, let’s go inside, it’s freezing,” he says, leaning in to greet his mother with a kiss on the cheek. He offers her a handful of envelopes that he’s got gripped between the fingers of his other hand and says, “Don’t you people ever check the mail around here?”

He steps through the threshold and sets Genevieve on her feet before crouching down to help her take off her boots. Anne can’t help but watch as he pulls the hat off her head and untangles the scarf from her neck and then as she hands him the mittens she’s managed to get off and finally all she’s got is her jacket left to undress. Harry piles all her winter wear into his arms and finds a place for it in the closet, the little girl trailing behind his every step, unsure of where to go in this big warm home.

Anne has seen many sides to her son; he’s had lots of friends and always done well in school. She’s seen him grow up into his kind young self, work hard at his first job, and even caught a glimpse of that compassion he spreads when he volunteered at their local animal hospital. One thing Anne can say she’s never seen, is her son having such responsibility over someone. And it’s not an obligatory action, it’s something he’s genuine about, something natural to him.

Louis stumbles through the door with bags upon bags in his hands. And Anne sees it. She sees the blue in the little girl’s eyes that matches this man’s, she sees look Harry gives to her before glancing up at him in the doorway, she sees the fondness that radiates between the three of them. 

That’s when Anne realises that Harry didn’t bring his boyfriend here to meet his family, he brought his family here to meet his parents.

“A little help would be nice,” Louis breathes from behind the weight he’s holding, and Harry laughs subtly before relieving him of the bags. “Thanks babe. Um,” he says, turning awkwardly to Anne, but he’s got nothing to fear, she’s entranced on the little girl practically hugging Harry’s leg as he moves to set the stuff down in the hallway.

“Mum, this is Louis,” Harry says as he comes back with Genevieve in his arms. She shimmies herself around so she’s perched on his back, her arms wrapped around his neck and her little head peeking over Harry’s broad shoulder. “And Louis, this is my mum.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cox,” Louis says softly, extending a hand out to shake hers upon the introduction.

“Oh, please Louis, call me Anne,” she ignores his hand and pulls him right in for a hug. “Wish I could say the same about you, though. Seems Harry has been keeping you lot from me for far too long.”

Louis hugs her back and tries not to let his smile lax. That’s not something he would’ve expected from Harry. When he pulls back he looks over at the boy in question, but his smile twitches up brighter as if he’s forgotten all about it when he sees Harry whispering something silly to Genevieve, who has her chin resting on his shoulder, giggling lightly.

“Alright, who might this little darling be?” Anne asks, reaching over Harry’s shoulder to brush back a strand of Genevieve’s long hair. The grin on her face looks strikingly similar to Louis’, and boy is it contagious.

“I’m Genevieve!” She shrieks happily, her voice piercing through Harry’s ear. He flinches and brings a hand up to pat her head softly.

“She belongs to Louis,” Harry says simply.

“Oh yes, I stole her from the zoo,” Louis nods.

Genevieve’s eyes pop open wide, and she glances back and forth between Harry and her father. “Daddy did you really?”

“No sweetheart. From the zoo? Not a lovely little thing like you,” Anne says and extends her arms out, wishing to hold the little girl she can’t help but love already. Genevieve goes to her willingly, climbing off of Harry’s back and into her embrace.

“Good luck getting her back now,” Harry mutters under his breath. The words fly past Louis as he watches on, Anne turning and carrying Genevieve down the hall and to the kitchen. Harry grabs Louis’ hand and walks him through the house, trailing slowly behind his mum.

They find Gemma sitting at the kitchen table, and she walks right past Harry and Louis without a word, her eyes set on Genevieve. “Who is this!” She squeals, rather than asks. She steals her from Anne’s arms and spins around once, giddy and wearing a smile with dimples on each cheek that match Harry’s.

“Oh great, now you’re really never getting her back,” Harry says, and Gemma slaps his arm.

“She’s adorable! Harry, why didn’t you tell me about her sooner?” Gemma’s features distinctly portray that of annoyance, and Harry shrugs. She looks pointedly at Louis, bringing her smile back. “You must be Harry’s boyfriend, yeah?”

“That I am,” Louis says. “Though I go by Louis.”

“Nice to meet you, finally,” she digs at Harry, but doesn’t spare him a second. “Is this your daughter?”

Louis nods and swallows, and he feels Harry’s hand squeeze his.

“She looks just like you, wow, she’s a doll!” Gemma turns to look at the little girl in her arms. “Truly lovely. What’s your name sweetie?”

“I’m Genevieve,” she says, much quieter this time. She looks back and forth between Harry and the woman holding her, noting their similarities as well. “There’s a picture of you on our fridge! You’re Harry’s sister?”

“Unfortunately,” she says wryly, tickling Genevieve’s little tummy. “You can call me Gemma, yeah?”

“So, you guys up for the big tour?” Harry asks, smoothing his thumb over the roof of Louis’ hand.

“Is Gemma coming?” Genevieve asks hopefully. Just as she had with Harry, she’s taken an immediate liking to his sister. No, Harry is not jealous. That’s ridiculous.

“You bet I am. Come on, let’s have Harry show you around,” Gemma says.

And so Harry shows them around the house. He shows them the living room and the dining room, the basement and the upstairs. He shows them where the bathrooms are, the wine cellar and then finally he shows them the bedrooms. Harry’s room is small and nice, it’s clean and organized with the bed made and the few posters he has taped to the walls are perfectly straight. He’s got books lined on his shelf and a few movies stacked on his dresser. The room is very boyish, and Louis especially likes the bed, and the idea of squishing in it with Harry for their stay.

“Will you show me your room?” Genevieve asks Gemma, who is more than happy to. 

Genevieve likes Gemma’s room better, as the walls are pink and her bed is bigger and the room has a window facing where the sun is up and bright this afternoon. She likes the white curtains and the pictures of Gemma and her friends up on the wall, and she has Gemma show her each one of the CD’s she has stacked beside her stereo.

“We’re not here often, so our rooms haven’t changed much since we were teenagers. My bedroom in my flat in London is much different,” Gemma laughs. “Not so girlie and bright.”

“I like it,” Genevieve says. “My room is purple. Yours is so much cooler.”

“Oh I doubt it, purple is a really cool colour,” Gemma tells her.

“You think?”

“Oh, most definitely. You know, I’d love to see your room one day,” Gemma mumbles. “Maybe I’ll come up to Manchester one day and visit my little brother.”

“I would love that!” Genevieve shrieks. “But I’m in school now so come on a weekend so I can see you.”

“Oh, ‘course,” Gemma nods. “So Harry’s all moved in with you guys now I hear?”

“It was a lot of work,” Genevieve recalls. “He shares a room with Daddy though, so they can show you their bedroom together!”

“Hey, c’mere kiddo,” Harry says as he bursts into the room with his arms spread open. Genevieve jumps off of Gemma’s bed and runs into Harry, hugging him tightly. Harry makes a face at Gemma, because on the inside he’s secretly a five-year-old. “Do you still want to go out and see the town?”

“Yes!” She says excitedly, and Harry picks her up, taking her back downstairs and to the living room, where they find Louis on the couch talking with Anne.

“Daddy, come on! Harry’s going to take us out now!”

Louis complies and they all put their jackets and boots on, cover their fingers with mittens and their ears with hats. Louis heads toward the car, but Harry tells them they’re walking. Genevieve pushes herself between them, holding onto both of their hands and swaying her little arms in the middle of them. She’s absolutely fascinated by the snow falling from above them, and the footprints their shoes leave beneath them.

Harry leads them downtown, walking past all his favourite places. He points out his high school, the daycare he attended when he was very young, and all of his favourite restaurants. “This is a very special place,” he says coolly, leading them up a walkway and to the door of a small bakery. When they walk in they’re instantly warm, Genevieve’s pink little nose defrosting.

“I used to work here back when I was about fifteen, right up until I left for uni a while back,” he tells him. “Remember those cookies I made you?”

Genevieve nods, anxious to hear what else he has to say.

“Secret recipe,” he tells them. “Learned it here.”

He walks them up to the counter then, and an old woman whose nametag reads Barbara almost cries when she sees him. Harry flashes her that grin of his and runs back behind the counter to give her a hug.

“Well, to what do I owe this visit, city boy?” She asks, pointing over her shoulder at the tray of fresh pastries.

“S’not like I took off to London!” Harry says, swiping a cookie from the tray. It’s still warm, and it smells delicious, but rather than taking a bite into it, he leans across the countertop to hand it to Genevieve.

“Might as well have! Compared to this place just about anywhere is a big city,” she says as Harry makes his way back to Louis’ side.

“Ah, well,” he shakes his head. “Barbara, could you manage to get me the regular?”

“Three of ‘em?”

“Please,” Harry says. Then he tells Louis and Genevieve to pick out which pastry they’d like. Louis picks a simple cookie, Genevieve a jelly-filled danish, and Harry picks an éclair for himself. Barbara plates them and sets them on the counter with the three mugs, and Harry digs around his pocket for his wallet.

“If you even attempt to offer me money for those I’m kicking you out,” she says. “Go sit down. It’s on the house.”

They thank her and choose a table by the window. Genevieve gets cherry filling from her danish on her nose, and Louis laughs, handing her a napkin to wipe it off. Harry tells them their mugs are filled with hot cocoa—only it’s not just cocoa. It’s homemade and there’s cinnamon in it. It’s practically world famous. Or it should be, at least. It’s his favourite.

When they’re finished Harry bids Barbara goodbye, explaining they’ve got much more to see before the day gets old. They take back to the streets, and he walks them past the shopping mall and the small cinema, and even the local grocers.

“Oh! Genevieve, ever had rock candy?” Harry asks her, to which he receives a simple no. He pulls her into a small candy shop by the hand, explaining that he used to come here all the time with his friends to get rock candy, because obviously it can’t be beat.

“What is this,” Louis says, shocked. “You’re feeding my child sugar.”

“Hey, I love sweets. Just not every day in my lunch,” Harry snaps.

“The audacity,” Louis says faintly, and Harry elbows him.

He drags Genevieve to the back of the store, passing all the candy floss and tootsie-pops a kid could every dream of, to where the wall is lined with flavoured candy sticks, and just what Harry is looking for, rock candy. There are so many flavours that Genevieve can’t decide which one to pick, so they decide it’s best if Harry gets grape and she gets blue raspberry, and they can try each other’s.

“Hold on,” Harry says when they’re on their way home. “Stay here for a second, I’ll be right back. There’s someone I want you to meet, ‘kay?”

He runs up the driveway of one of the houses they were walking by, and he taps hastily on the door until a woman answers. Louis and Genevieve are still out on the sidewalk, so they can’t hear what’s going on, but soon they see a boy come to the door. He slips on some shoes and follows Harry down the walk until he’s standing with the three of them out in the snow. He’s got blonde hair and a goofy grin, and he isn’t wearing a jacket so he’s got his arms crossed over his chest, trying to keep warm.

“Hey, m’Niall,” the boy says, his breath visible in the air between them. “You must be the famous Louis and Genevieve I’ve heard so much about.”

“Infamous, really.” Louis says cheekily.

They engage in a lengthy conversation, Genevieve sticking her opinion in at random points, as per usual. Louis is glad Harry introduced him to his mate as he grows to really like Niall, and he feels bad that the poor lad is out here shivering in just jeans and a jumper.

“So how long are you boys in town?” Niall asks, to which he receives a, “I am a girl,” from Genevieve. “My apologies. How long are you boys and girl in town?”

“Just for today and tomorrow, m’afraid,” Harry tells him. “We leave bright and early on the 24th.”

“I was going to tell you to come in for a bit, but I don’t want to keep you,” Niall frowns. “Gotta let me know when you’re coming back, yeah?”

“You should come over, mate. Fancy my mum’s cooking?” And of course Niall says that he couldn’t pass up an offer like that and runs back into his own house to grab a jacket and join them on the walk back to Harry’s. When they walk through the front door of that familiar old red house Harry swings in right through the threshold shouting, “I brought home a stray!”

“What?” Anne asks, though the puzzled look melts right off her face when she sees him. “Oh Niall, it’s so good to see you.”

“Yeh, you too,” he grins.

“You joining us for supper? Excuse me, I have to set an extra plate,” and she’s out of the doorway just as fast as she swooped in.

Genevieve absolutely adores Niall, mostly because he’s got a funny accent she’s never heard before, and because he laughs louder than anyone she’s ever met. She keeps Niall company as Harry and Louis tend to the kitchen, dead set on helping Anne with dinner, despite her protests.

Gemma had left not long after they did for their walk, but she comes waltzing through the front door with a bunch of bags and boxes just before dinner. “Last minute Christmas shopping, nobody look!”

But Harry looks over, of course, which leads him to receive an annoyed look before getting flipped off by his sister. Gemma scurries up the stairs with her things and comes back down to find everyone seated at the table.

“Oh hey Niall,” she waves. Genevieve is on the chair right in between both Louis and Harry, and she pulls Gemma’s attention, pointing to the empty chair across from her at the table, and so she takes her seat facing the pretty little girl.

Dinner is loud at Harry’s house, and Louis finds the constant flow of banter and laughter to be comforting and homey. To be quite honest, he could’ve imagined Harry growing up in a home like this, so full and warm and enlightening. It feels easy, in the exact same way that Harry himself is, in his unique and humble way. Louis feels surrounded by family, and it’s gratifying.

“Here, let me get that for you kiddo,” Harry says, reaching over Genevieve to cut up the piece of chicken on her plate. She’s been trying to tear it apart with her fork for quite some time now, but she gave up and blew out a frustrated huff of air that breezed through a strand of her hair. 

Harry turns her plate and cuts it into tiny pieces for her and then hands back her fork and she smiles. “Thanks Dad.”

Everyone at the table goes quiet for a minute, except the three of them, of course, because Louis and Harry are both well used to the little name slip, and it doesn’t faze them in the slightest. Harry just mumbles, “No problem, sweetie,” and looks back up to find his mother, sister, and friend staring at him.

“Um. So,” Niall coughs, and Gemma scrapes her fork across her plate to cut through the silence.

“How long are you staying at your parents’?” Anne asks Niall, making small talk, though she was genuinely curious. She knew he was back for the holidays, but Niall has a habit of spontaneously moving out and about, or switching to new schools for different programs, or finding different part-time jobs in random cities all around them.

“Well, I was only supposed to stay until after the holidays; just after New Year’s at best. But now I’m not so sure, really. Might move back here,” he says, clearly still mulling the thought of it over. “Parents said my old bedroom will always be there for me, so.”

“That’s great,” Anne smiles. “You’re going to have to come over and keep me company while my babies are away.” Harry and Gemma share an outward look of dislike toward being called her ‘babies’, and Anne rolls her eyes at them.

“It’s a good way to save up some money b’fore I go out and do whatever it is I’m gonna do next, right? But yeah, you’ll definitely be seeing me around,” Niall nods as he talks and Harry restrains himself from kicking his best friend’s shin under the table. Niall likes to make as many remarks about how attractive he finds Anne to be, and nevertheless, Harry manages to catch wind of almost every single one of them. His instant reactions are either to get violent or to vomit. Sometimes both.

When dinner is finished Gemma and Harry clear the table, and then join everyone else in the living room, carrying a tray of steaming mugs full of hot cocoa. They pass one around to everyone and then Harry gets comfortable on the couch next to Louis and Genevieve jumps on top of both of them, squirming around on both of their laps until she gets comfortable. Gemma takes a seat next to Anne and leans into her mother, who wraps an arm around her for warmth. They’ve got a movie on now, but no one’s really watching it, they’re just enjoying each other’s company, filling the night with quiet chatter.

Niall leaves sometime into the late evening, giving Genevieve a one armed hug and telling Louis it was nice to meet him. He tosses in a “Call me once in a while, yeah, Dad?” to Harry (a comment of which makes Harry blush furiously, but happily, needless to say) before walking out the door into the snowy night.

When it’s time to put Genevieve to bed, Louis realizes he totally forgot the book of poetry they’d been reading through (their collection has grown, she’s been into Walt Whitman lately), and so Harry decides their resort is one of the books off the shelf in his room.

“This is one of my favourites,” he announces as he turns from the shelf over where Genevieve is all cozy wrapped in blankets and tucked into a sleeping bag on the floor next to the bed. She’s propped up on about a hundred pillows, her knotty hair dangling off her shoulders. “Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury.”

“What’s it about?” Genevieve asks, studying the cover of the book in Harry’s hands. Louis is sitting crossed legged on the floor next to her, playing with the twists of her hair, also more than eager to hear a passage from one of the books that left a mark on Harry’s heart.

“Ironically, it’s a book about books being banned,” Harry tells her. Louis’ never read it, but then again, he doesn’t read much more than what he reads to his daughter. “It’s set in the future, and books are illegal, because the population is being manipulated; and the more you read, the smarter you are. They can’t really manipulate the smart people, now can they?”

“I like books. Does that mean I’m smart too?” She asks, her eyes a shallow crystal blue that sparkles under the dim light.

“That it does, my little munchkin,” Louis nods, petting her hair some more.

Harry looks down to crack open the spine, some dust falling off the cover and dancing to the ground at his feet. He nestles down on the floor beside Louis and flips to one of the pages he’s had dog-eared since the last time he read it, quite a few years ago. He holds the book in his lap, looking up just once more before immersing himself in a small part of the story that he finds he misses quite a bit.

"The books are to remind us what asses and fools we are. They're Caeser's Praetorian Guard, whispering as the parade roars down the avenue, 'Remember, Caeser, thou art mortal.' Most of us can't rush around, talking to everyone, know all the cities of the world, we haven't time, money or that many friends. The things you're looking for, Montag, are in the world, but the only way the average chap will ever see ninety-nine percent of them is in a book. Don't ask for guarantees. And don't look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were headed for shore."

When he’s done, Harry sighs softly before closing the novel. “So?” He asks, fingering over some of the worn pages. “What did you think?”

“I don’t want them to ban books.” Genevieve frowns. “Are they really going to?”

“If they do,” Harry promises, “we’ll memorize them all.”

Genevieve smiles and asks the two of them if they’re ready for bed yet, because as sleepy as she is, she doesn’t want to stay upstairs alone. Louis lets out a yawn and crawls into Harry’s bed, clad in his pyjamas, deciding that yes, he could use some sleep too. Harry tells them he’s just going to run downstairs and say goodnight to his mother, and that he’ll be right back.

“Mum?” He calls out softly as he pads barefoot down the last step and across the hallway. He finds her in the kitchen, leaning up against the surface of the counter on her elbows with her chin resting on the roof of her clasped hands, evidently in thought.

“Mmm?” She hums, looking up at him as he shuffles on over. “What can I do for you, honey?”

“Just wanted to say goodnight, is all.” Harry says in earnest, pulling her into a hug. She doesn’t so much as leave the embrace when he pulls back as she does smooth a hand down his back and nudge him along, leading him toward the living room.

“Come here for a minute before you go up, yeah?” She asks, taking a seat on the couch. He’s already sitting down beside her, her hands on her knees and his in his lap, when he replies.

“I sense a serious talk coming on.”

“You get your intuition from me,” she winks, trying to make this light, or easier, if you will. “Listen, Harry. First and foremost—I know how you are—and I don’t want you to get offended by this—which you will—but, just hear me out before you decide to throw a tantrum and get irrationally angry with me, please.”

“You make it sound like I have behavioural issues, mum. I’m twenty years old; my terrible two’s are long over,” he chuckles, though the laugh is really rather forced.

“Like I said, I know how you are. I’m just covering my bases, I promise,” she reaches over to pat his knee and he feels his mouth go dry. He’s nervous, okay, it’s not like his mother drags him into impromptu chats late at night very often. “Alright, so. First and foremost, I want you to know that Louis is a lovely guy. And of course, I absolutely adore Genevieve.”

“But?” Harry snaps. He takes a deep breath in, because he’s definitely not getting irrational. He sees his mother flinch at his tone, so he recollects himself on the exhale before asking again, his softer intonation making all the difference. “But?”

“But Harry, honey, don’t you think you’re a little young to be getting yourself involved in so much responsibility?” The question is genuine and concerned, and a part of Harry that he isn’t proud of wishes it sounded accusatory, as if the underlie of her words were belittling the very idea of his sense of family orientation, just so he could justify being angry.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little domestication,” he mumbles sourly.

“You’re twenty years old, Harry. You haven’t even completed university,” she sighs. “I’m not trying to say you’re making the wrong decisions, Harry, and don’t get me wrong, you know I’ll stand by you through anything. I just want you to be aware, or prepared, rather, because this is a lot you’re committing to.”

“You say that like I think it’s some sort of game. I’m not playing house with the Tomlinsons, if that’s what you’re after,” he breathes. “It’s a lot, I know, but I’ve known all along.”

“You have to know how frightened I was this afternoon when you walked through the door juggling her in your arms,” Anne laughs quietly. “My first thought was, how long has he been away for?”

“Oh, please,” Harry’s caught between a blush and a giggle, and his mother fluffs one of the curls at the top of his head.

“You’re very nurturing towards her, Harry. She really loves you,” she tells him. “Apparently enough to call you Dad.”

“Yeah, she does that sometimes.”

“You really love her too, yeah?”

“Enough to think that one day maybe I really will be her dad,” he admits, and that sits in the air for a moment, silent and windless, refusing to blow away from between them.

“I love you Harry,” Anne says, pulling him in for another hug. “You’re young, kid, but you’re doing good. I’m really proud of you, keep that in mind.”

“G’night mum,” Harry says, giving her a kiss on the cheek before heading up to his bedroom, where he makes cozy in the sliver of bed that Louis has ever-so-graciously spared for him. He curls up in blankets against his beautiful boyfriend, whom he kisses feather light on the forehead as he lays in his sleep, and then Harry too enters the vivacious world of dreams.

 

 

The three of them are woken the next morning by Gemma, who peers in the doorway of Harry’s bedroom and lures them awake with the smell of breakfast and the traditional opening of presents. Harry finds he’s way too tired to get up with the very idea of excitement, and he just kind of “hmph”s and slumps further into the mattress. That is, until Louis pushes him off the side of the bed.

“Alright, alright. I’m up,” his voice is groggy and thick and his eyes are blurred by slumber, but he manages to pull his long limbs up from the ground and clamber to his feet.

Louis finds a shirt on the ground and pulls it on over his head, and it’s slightly too big and comfy to be his own. Harry likes it a little too much when Louis wears his clothes, and he’s far too tired to do any shirt-searching of his own so he shrugs and leads Louis and Genevieve downstairs, yawning all the way down. Harry can’t grab the coffee pot soon enough, and he pours himself a mug of brewed caffeine, handing one to Louis as well. 

“Put some clothes on,” Gemma hisses, tossing a jumper at him from across the room.

Harry smirks, not missing Louis’ whisper, “Please don’t.”

They take a seat on the couch in the living room, and Genevieve nestles between them comfortably in her nightgown with her long hair tangled where it lays against her back. The lights on the Christmas tree are twinkling, shining off the glass bulb ornaments that hang from the branches, and all is right when Gemma switches the radio on and Christmas classics play softly in the background of their morning. Anne is seated on the rocking chair next to the big evergreen, and Gemma sits at her feet, a mug of her own cupped between her tired fingers.

“Alright, who’s first?” Anne asks, and before she’s even finished the question Gemma is jumping up and grabbing a present from underneath the tree beside her.

“Got you something,” Gemma says and she tosses the wrapped box through the air and into Harry’s lap. It’s clearly nothing breakable, he thinks. Just to humour everyone watching him, he shakes the box close to his ear, listening for anything that might shake inside. “Oh just open the bloody thing.”

Harry smiles like he’s a kid again, that toothy grin far too big for his face. When he tears through the wrapping paper he’s smiling impossibly wider. “Gem!”

“Do you like it?” She asks giddily.

“I love it,” Harry says as he pulls the Led Zeppelin Houses of the Holy concert tee from the box it’s folded into. The fabric is a faded black and despite how many times it might have been washed, the shirt still manages to smell like a mix of whiskey, marijuana and sex.

“It’s vintage,” Gemma winks. “And very you.”

Harry jumps to his feet and wraps her into a tight hug and whispers thank you before diving under the tree to grab a gift, handing this one to his mum. Anne is the kind of woman who likes to save the paper, and she rips it slowly but carefully along the taped seam before peeling it back to reveal a box of her own. Inside the box is truffles of pink tissue paper and an off-white cashmere scarf.

“Oh, Harry, it’s beautiful!” She immediately pulls the scarf from its box and wraps it around her neck, the colour contrasts well with her skin tone and she cozies into its softness. “Thank you!”

She gives him a kiss and he bends back down to grab something else from under the tree, but Gemma swats his hands away. “Shoo, you just had a turn,” she scolds. She finds a gift wrapped in pretty pink paper and walks over to Genevieve with it. “This one’s for you, sweetie.”

“For me?” Genevieve questions, her face lighting up. Gemma nods.

“Open it, munchkin,” Louis nudges her and she giggles as she tears through the wrapping paper, tossing bits of it to the floor. 

In her hands is a clear plastic box that houses a little doll with a pretty face and auburn hair. Genevieve can’t read many things, but she can decipher her own name. The sticker on the doll’s box does in fact say Genevieve, but she gives her father a peculiar look and asks him, just to be sure.

“Yes, baby girl. It says here that the doll’s name is Genevieve, just like yours!” And before he knows it she’s handing him the doll and jumping up to give Gemma a big hug.

“Thank you, thank you!” She cheers, and Gemma picks her up and hugs her back.

The rest of their morning passes just like that, trading gifts and hugs back and forth. The twinkle of the tree lights, their warm drinks, and music that drifts through the air warm them to their cores, along with the love shared between the family.

 

 

❖

 

 

After a day full of love and laughter, filled on spirits as well as Christmas dinner, everyone is exhausted. They’ve spent the night curled up next to one another watching holiday specials on the telly, warm cups of cocoa in-hand. When bedtime comes they fall quickly to sleep, dreaming about the magical day they had and the one yet to come. The morning comes faster than anyone would’ve expected, and soon they’re loading their things up into Louis’ car and standing on the snowy doorstep giving goodbye hugs.

“Come back soon,” Anne says, giving the three of them kisses and motherly hugs.

“Especially this little princess,” Gemma coos, swooping in to hug Genevieve goodbye.

“You said you’d come visit us, right?” Genevieve asks, her eyes wide with hope.

“Oh of course,” she smiles. “I’ll be seeing you soon, I promise.”

And then they’re loading themselves into the car and pulling out of the driveway, heading down the frosted streets until they’ve hit the highway.

“Off to Donny we go,” Louis laughs, and Harry grabs the hand Louis isn’t diving with, lacing their cold, wintry fingers together between their seats.

The drive to Doncaster feels a lot shorter than the two hours that it is, if you can get past Genevieve kicking the seat in front of her in anticipation. Soon enough they’re pulling into the driveway of Louis’ old home, the one that houses his parents and plenty of siblings. The second they open their doors, two young, identical girls come running out of the house, leaving footprints in the snow and plowing into their older brother.

“There’s my girls,” Louis grins, greeting them with hugs. He picks one up and holds the hand of the other, wondering when the hell they got so big as he walks them towards the house. Glancing back he sees Harry trying to unload the trunk with Genevieve at his side, reaching to help him carry some things. 

He leaves the twins at the door with a kiss on both of their cheeks before he goes back to help Harry, and somehow he finds himself carrying everything in, just like last time, and he wonders how that happened again. Harry’s got an armful of winter jacket clad four-year-old, and snow stuck in his dark, unruly hair.

When they make it in the house Louis’ mother is at the door, insisting on taking all the things he’s struggling to carry. Harry sets Genevieve down and she’s carried away by the twins, and then it’s time for the conventional introduction routine.

“Mum, this is Harry,” Louis tells her, wrapping his arm around the taller boy’s shoulders for a split second. Harry feels the heat of Louis’ touch, burning still in its wake, as he reaches out to hug her. “And Harry, this is my mum, Jay.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Jay says, placing a welcoming kiss upon Harry’s cheek.

“You too,” Harry says softly.

They hang their jackets up, and the creaking of the closet doors pulls Felicity’s attention, and she comes skidding over from the living room. Without a word she runs to hug Louis, and he pulls her in and hugs her tight. “Missed you the most, Fizz,” Louis says, patting her head. 

The sweet moment is cut off by a snarl in the other room, followed by some yelling. “Daisy, give it back!” “Make me!” “I’m telling mom!”

“I missed you lot, but I have to admit, I do not miss that,” Louis says with his eyebrows raised. He lets Fizzy go to see what all the commotion is, and of course, he finds Lottie and Daisy fighting over a cellphone or a remote control, something superficial of the sort. Louis scrunches his nose up and puts on his best imitation of his mother, “I’ve had just about enough of this, Charlotte!”

Everyone turns to face him, and Lottie bursts with laughter before running over to say hi. “Lou, you’re home,” she says sweetly, forgetting about whatever nonsense she was arguing about. “Where’s Gen?”

“God only knows,” he sighs. She could be anywhere by now, now that his sisters have gotten a hold of her. “There’s someone I want you to meet, c’mere.”

Louis drags her back toward the foyer where Harry is trying to gather up their things neatly, and he scoffs, because that’s quite short of a surprise. He reaches for Harry’s arm where he’s bent over a bag that’s toppled over, and he pulls him up, watching as Harry shakes his fringe out of his sight.

“This is Harry?” Lottie gasps. She leans in close and whispers, “Wow Lou, he’s cute.”

“Yeah, watch it. He’s mine,” Louis snuffs, because, well, it’s true.

“I’m Harry, property of Louis,” Harry winks at her, and she blushes. “Are you…Phoebe?”

“Nice try,” she says. “Lottie.”

“Right, sorry. Lottie,” Harry lets the name get comfortable on his tongue, and Louis reaches up to fluff his hair. “Quit it.”

“Well, I’m gonna go, y’know, before I vomit,” and she excuses herself and finds a comfy place in front of the telly.

“So, you’ve met Lottie, saw Fizzy, and I don’t expect you to be able to tell Daisy and Phoebe apart until much later in the day,” Louis informs him. “That’s the whole army though.”

“They’re nice,” Harry smiles.

“Yeah, when they’re not yelling at each other,” Louis agrees. “Well, this feels a little rushed, but, tour?”

“You don’t have to show me around just yet if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t, particularly, but…I do want to show you my bedroom, so I might as well just parade you around the whole place. I’ve got blueprints and everything if you’d like to know how the piping system works,” Louis teases.

“Not interested in piping, sorry. You’d of had me sold if it was for the heating and cooling system though,” Harry says meekly.

“Bummer,” Louis shakes his head incredulously. “Well, come on then, a tour of the place, save for everything you definitely don’t need to know about our structural plumbing.”

Louis shows him around just about everywhere before he leads him upstairs to the bedrooms. “That door is my parents’ room, there’s the room the twins share, that door leads to Lottie’s lair of some sort, Fizz is just next door, and right down the hallway is my own.”

“This door?” Harry asks, reaching for the doorknob.

“No, silly, that’s the linen closet. The one on the other side,” Louis says, reaching for the handle of the next door over. He opens the door, exclaiming, “Voila!” and Harry has a look around. 

Louis’ room is all blues, and there are football jerseys hung up on the walls, along with a framed photo of one of his favourite players. There are medals and ribbons from games and tournaments he’s won that are stuck up on a corkboard by the window, and a big stereo on his dresser. Louis’ bed is two times the size of Harry’s, and his flannel comforter looks inviting.

“I can’t wait to do dirty things with you in that bed,” Louis says under his breath. Harry perks up, his breathing hitched.

“You’re not fucking me in your childhood bedroom, Louis,” Harry shakes the thought from his head before it has the chance to chase its way downward and make his pants any tighter than they need to be. “However, a wise man on the internet once told me to never turn down a kinky blowjob.”

“What kind of perverse chat rooms do you enter?” Louis asks, mock horror played on his face.

Harry winks and he jumps onto Louis’ bed, rolling around on the soft mattress. Louis’ hands find Harry’s hips and he props himself up on the bed, and when he bends to kiss Harry, Harry’s hands smooth over the arch of his back.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Genevieve shouts, running into the bedroom. Louis jumps off Harry and scrambles around on top of the sheets next to him, and Harry opens his arms up for Genevieve to join them on the bed. “It’s almost cake time!”

“Okay, munchkin, we’ll go down and have cake in a minute,” Louis sighs. Cake sounds delightful, but he can think of something else that’s even better, and he’s sitting right next to him. “Beat you down there!” Louis teases, and Genevieve flees from the room with a running start. Louis’ hands press against the flat plains of Harry’s chest and he kisses him just once, however soft and slow. The feel of Harry’s lips just makes Louis hungry for more, but duty—or the world outside this very room, rather—calls. His hands wander south before breaking their path and he grabs a hold of both of Harry’s hands and he pulls him off the bed. “Cake time.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry whines, however he lets Louis pull him up off the bed and lead him downstairs where they bump into Louis’ father, who has just gotten home.

“Dad,” Louis says. His voice catches in the back of his throat and he holds his breath for an extended second before going on. “This is Harry. And Harry, this is Mark, my dad.”

“Hi Harry,” Mark smiles upon the greeting, offering a hand out to shake Harry’s own.

“Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Oh, none of that, son. Simply call me Mark, that’s well enough,” he chuckles, oblivious to Harry’s reaction to his calling him son. The moment lapses and Mark’s attention extends out to Louis, now, as well. “You two been taking good care of my granddaughter?”

“The best,” Harry nods, the gesture quick and sharp. Louis reaches to set a hand on his hip, the gentle touch having great calming effects, and Harry noticeably slackens into Louis’ embrace before continuing. “She’s well.”

“Thanks to Harry here with his homemade dinners full of nutritious value to benefit growing little girls,” Louis laughs. “Calcium and all that.”

“Just what I like to hear,” Mark says. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Somewhere around here harping about cake,” Louis says before adding, “like father like daughter, I guess.”

“Cake, right! Happy Birthday Louis,” his dad pulls him in for a hug before they all turn for the kitchen. Genevieve is sitting crossed legged on the surface of the kitchen table with Louis’ big chocolate cake out in front of her, the rich circumference lined with candles. Twenty-two of them, to be exact.

The twins are on the other side of the table, accompanied by Lottie and Fizzy, Mark takes a seat at the end, watching as Jay swoops in with a lighter to bring flame to each candle wick. Louis takes his seat in front of the cake, looking up to meet eyes with Genevieve, and he catches the way she mouths a silent reminder for him to make a wish. When they both look back down at the cake all twenty-two candles are lit and droplets of coloured wax are dripping slowly onto the frosting.

As if on perfect cue, the whole room starts the ever known Happy Birthday ballad, their cheers and kind wishes making Louis glow. He thinks hard for a moment before he makes his wish and on the last beat of the song, with the help of his daughter he blows out each of the candles, save for one.

“That means you’re only going to have one true love!” Phoebe gasps from her seat, the traditional meaning coming to mind as she eyes down the standing lit candle.

“Sounds about right to me,” Louis smiles, turning to look up at his boyfriend, the sparkly eyed Harry who is standing right behind his chair, hands resting on the curve of his shoulders. Harry sends a cheeky wink his way before bending down to blow out the last candle Louis has left, and the room erupts in celebration for Louis.

“Happy Birthday Lou!” His family cheers. His mother takes the cake from the table and cuts it, plating each triangular piece. “It might be a little superstitious, but everybody has to have at least a bite of birthday cake, or it’s bad luck.” Jay explains, offering a piece to everyone.

“Look mine has the L from where it said Happy Birthday Louis on it!” Louis grins. Harry swipes a bit of frosting on the pad of his finger and he smears it on the tip of Louis’ nose.

“You’re twenty-two going on two,” Harry jokes.

“It’s very important to me that my piece of birthday cake has an L on it, Harry,” Louis’ tongue flicks out and he tries to lick the icing off his nose, but he just isn’t getting it, so he settles for smearing icing on Harry’s nose in return.

After their plates are left with only chocolatey crumbs, Lottie races up the stairs and the opening and closing of her bedroom door can be heard. When she comes back down she sets a moderately sized rectangular box on the table right in front of Louis, gesturing for him to open it. It’s wrapped in silver paper and it’s got a red bow taped on top.

“It’s from all of us,” Felicite says, pointing at the rest of their sisters.

“Oh, you really didn’t have to get me anything,” Louis blushes, but he rips the paper nonetheless and opens the box to find a nice pair of shoes, his favourite shade of blue. Underneath the trainers is a black Nike sweatshirt. He unfolds it, taking it out and eyeing it up in front of himself, glancing over the top of the impossibly soft fabric at his sisters who are watching him impatiently, trying to read his expression. “Thank you girls, I love it,” he finally says, getting up and giving each of them a hug.

“Happy birthday,” they all chime and he smiles in delight.

“One more,” Mark says, handing Louis a considerably smaller rectangular box, the width of it fitting perfectly across the palm of his hand. “From your mother and I.”

Louis lifts the lid off the narrow box, revealing a pair of tickets. He looks closer at them, reading the details. “Oh my god, these are front row to Two Door Cinema Club. Thank you!” He gives both his parents a hug, appreciation radiating from every inch of him.

When the excitement wears down Jay tells everyone to relax as she puts on dinner. Genevieve scurries away with the twins, and just as Louis is heading upstairs, Harry pulls him aside. “I’ll give you my gift later, yeah?”

“You shouldn’t have gotten me anything Harry,” Louis tsks, but Louis knows how he is and so he doesn’t make any attempt to complain further, he simply leans in, the feel of thanks and celebration coating the softness of their kiss.

“Happy birthday, Lou.” Harry mumbles against Louis’ lips before kissing him again. Harry can feel Louis smiling into the kiss, that familiar closed lipped smile that he knows Louis is fighting to prevent from being a full blown, breathtaking grin. Louis brings his hands up to press them flat against the spread of Harry’s chest, feeling the warmth of his body through his clothes.

“I love you, you know that?” Louis asks rhetorically.

But, like always, Harry’s got an answer for him. “Hm, I didn’t. Must’ve slipped my mind or something.”

“Oh shut up,” Louis deadpans, the tip of his fingers slapping lightly against his chest. Harry wraps his long arms around Louis’, holding him in closer, and he rests his cheek against Louis’ hair. The moment, as laced with gentle intimacy as it can get, doesn’t last for long as they’re suddenly accompanied by the staircase.

“Daddy,” Genevieve says as she tugs on the hem of Louis’ jumper. Daisy and Phoebe have tagged along, standing beside one another just barely behind her. Louis raises his brows attentively as he unfolds himself from Harry’s closeness. “Will you come play in the snow with us?”

“I was going to help with dinner, but I’m sure Harry’ll go play with you?” Louis compromises, flashing Harry a hopeful look.

“Yeah, c’mon, let’s go get our jackets,” Harry says, taking her hand in one of his, reaching out for one of the twins’ with the other. He’s pretty sure it’s Daisy who takes his hand, and Phoebe is the one who squishes herself between the two of them, latching her small fingers around Harry’s wrist. They gather their coats, scarves and mittens, and Harry plops a hat on each of their heads. He zips them all in and helps them into their snow boots and soon enough they’re outside under the falling flakes.

Louis stands in the kitchen, under the intention of helping his mum cook dinner, but he’s found himself to be not much help at all as he watches the four of them through the window. Harry falls to the padded ground and starts opening and closing both his arms and legs like a pendulum, effectively making a snow angel. The girls follow suit, embossing their own snow angel into the ground beneath where they lay, and they all get up to admire them.

Louis misses who throws the first snowball as he fixes himself and his mum a cup of tea, but when he looks up there is snow being packed between mitten clad fingers and rounds of it being flung into the air. It seems as though the three young girls have ganged up on Harry, chasing him around the yard, whipping snow at him and cackling amongst each other as it ricochets off his jacket. Louis laughs when he gets one to the back of the head, each flake separating and sticking to his locks as the snowball crumbles with the impact.

“He’s such a lovely boy, Louis,” his mum says as she takes a sip from her steaming mug. Louis just nods silently, because if anyone knows that, it’s him. “He’s really found a place with the two of you, yeah? He fits right in.”

“Couldn’t get out now if he tried,” Louis laughs lightly, trying not to think about Genevieve’s mother, someone of which he believed the same of, just four short years ago. “But, uh, yeah. And Genevieve absolutely loves him.”

“So do you,” Jay says, setting her porcelain mug on the countertop before tending back to the vegetables she’s trying to prepare.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs. “Yeah, I do. A lot.”

“Oh, I know. You’re not very subtle about it,” she teases. “But I’m glad. You two make each other happy; it’s heartwarming to see.” Louis wants to say that what’s really heartwarming is hearing his mother say that, but he just smiles and bats his lashes a couple times. Harry really does make him happy. “Not to mention the fact that that boy treats my granddaughter like a princess.”

“I think that’s how he won me over,” Louis says, hardly joking. Jay hums softly as the small conversation dissipates and Louis goes back to watching the four of them through the window, appreciating the heat from being inside as he sees the four of them with reddened noses and cheeks to match.

They’re rolling a ball of snow across the yard, clumps sticking to it as they go. The growing ball becomes gigantic and they leave it be, rolling more snowballs across the yard until they’re satisfied with their size. Harry lifts a moderately sized snowball onto the larger one before placing the smallest one they’ve made on top, and each of the girls fans their hands against the body of their concocted snowman to smooth out his jagged edges an uneven lumps. Soon enough he’s got a properly spherical body, and the girls stick branches in his sides for arms and two acorns they’ve found in the yard higher up for his eyes.

Louis swipes a full carrot from the counter where his mum is chopping and slides on his shoes and coat, overlapping the thick material across his body rather than just zipping it up, and he grabs a scarf and takes that and the carrot out to them.

“You put it on him Daddy!” Genevieve tells him, so Louis wraps the scarf around the snowman’s neck, and then he hands Genevieve the carrot and lifts her up so she can give him his nose. “He’s perfect.”

“That he is,” Louis says, a shiver rolling through him as a gust of wind picks up. Harry moves to stand as a windbreaker to keep Louis from the cold, and Louis can’t help but fall even more in love with him as he looks up to see his boy, chilly and pale under the white sky with bouts of snow knotted into his damp curls.

 

 

“If you girls don’t head to bed Santa isn’t going to come,” Jay says as she swoops into the room where a dog pile of girls have tackled Louis to the floor. Harry has joined them on the floor, lying flat on his stomach with his elbows propped up on the carpet to spectate better. Louis has been trying to wrestle them off of him for nearly twenty minutes now, so it’s kind of funny to see the whole army of them jump off him all at once. Jay gives each of the girls a goodnight kiss and they head upstairs to get ready for bed. 

“Aren’t you going up?” Harry asks Lottie, who’s absentmindedly tapping away on her cellphone.

“You don’t actually think I still believe in Santa Claus, do you?” She chuckles, because she’s fifteen and finds the idea of still believing in such folklore to be absurd.

Harry shrugs. “It’s still nice to keep up the pretences for your sisters,” he says lightly. “I remember when I found out it was all just a myth, and my sister told me she figured it out years beforehand but she didn’t want me to doubt Christmas magic, so she pretended for me.”

“I’ve never looked at it that way,” she admits.

“Come on,” Harry says, extending out a hand to pull Lottie up from the couch. She heads up with the rest of them and everyone changes into their warmest pyjamas. Harry finds it nice that she’s doing this for her sisters, the young girls who bounce around with anticipation, and even Fizzy, who’s reached the age where she doesn’t really believe, but she’s subconsciously holding onto the idea for dear life.

Daisy and Phoebe get into their respective beds and Genevieve crawls in with one of them. When Louis comes into the room to tuck them in Genevieve blurts out that she wants him to read ‘Twas the Night before Christmas’ to them as their bedtime story. Louis, who smiles gleefully at the idea, runs to grab Lottie and Fizzy from their bedrooms, and soon they come in bearing blankets and get comfy on bed corners. Daisy hands the Christmas story book to Louis, and he takes a seat on the floor in between the two beds, crossing his ankles and setting the book in his lap. Harry gets comfy next to him, leaning into Louis’ warm side as he clears his throat and flips open the cover.

“Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung on the chimney with care,

In hopes that St Nicholas would soon be there.”

The girls yawn, fighting nodding off as he continues the poem. Harry can see the sparkle of magic in their eyes as Louis reads them the classic Christmas poem, flipping page after page of the picture book. Jay is standing in the doorway, watching them all and listening to Louis reading aloud, and she can gradually feel the warmth and spirit more and more between them. When Louis reaches the last stanza he feels himself grow sad with the conclusion to one of his favourite childhood stories.

“He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

He folds the book closed and they give each of the girls a kiss and whisper goodnight, and they follow Jay out of the room, bidding her off too as they make their way to get cozy in Louis’ bed. Louis covers himself in the comforter and pats the spot on the bed next to him, wondering why Harry hasn’t gotten in with him yet. It sure is cold, and they say body heat is the best way to keep warm, right? Yes, Louis is sure that that’s definitely a thing that people do say.

Harry moves to unzip his bag at the end of the bed, and he pulls a flat little box out. It’s fancy, Louis observes, as it looks to be lined with velvet, and it has a little silver lining along its edges. When Harry hands him the box he sees the emblem of a jewellery store, and Louis sinks into the mattress.

“Harry, really,” Louis shakes his head. “You definitely didn’t need to do this.”

“Shut up and open it, you idiot.”

So Louis sighs and he opens the box and his mouth falls agape at the gorgeous bracelet that’s revealed. It’s made of brown swede, intricately twined with glass beads sewn throughout. That’s not the best part, though. There are three charms that dangle from it; small gold discs that each have initials engraved into them. The first being an L, for Louis, followed by a G, for Genevieve, and finally the third being an H, for Harry.

Louis can’t kiss him fast enough, really. He grabs Harry by the shirt and pulls him onto the bed, kissing him sweetly. “Thank you Harry,” he mumbles between kisses. “I love it, I really do love it.”

“Here,” Harry says, pulling back. He’s smiling ridiculously, as he’s glad that Louis likes the birthday present. “Let me put it on you?”

“Please,” Louis nods, and Harry pulls the bracelet from the box, unlinking its junction and clasping it around his tanned wrist. Louis shakes his wrist, the charms dancing before them. He loves it. 

When Harry kisses him again he can feel the intent with the movement of their lips, slick with passion as they brush together. The taste of Harry is distinguishable, a savory love that Louis can feel on the tip of his tongue as he licks into his mouth. Heat pools within Louis when Harry’s hands grip his hips, but he comes to find they don’t find home there as they slide over the fabric of his flannel pants.

He felt himself hardening before, but it’s nothing like the feel of pleasure that pulses right to his cock when the heel of Harry’s palm digs at his bulge. A whine escapes from the back of Louis’ throat and Harry hums as a mixture of their hot breath chases the sweet noise into his own mouth. Harry’s hands continue to ghost over Louis, his index finger lightly tracing the outline of Louis’ cock, and Louis doesn’t think he’s ever felt so restricted in his clothes.

“Need these off—” he gasps against Harry’s mouth, “need your hands, need you to–to touch me—”

“Okay baby,” Harry barely whispers. His hands come up to brush Louis’ fringe out of his eyes, and he looks into those pearly blues as his finger navigates the waistband of Louis’ pyjamas. He curls a digit into the fabric, and Louis shimmies, trying to get them off faster. Harry tugs them downward, pulling them past his hips and Louis maneuvers them down to his ankles and he kicks them off.

Harry doesn’t hesitate, for he’s not trying to tease. His hand curls around Louis’ length and he strokes him, slow and steady at first. He swipes the drizzle of precum from Louis’ tip as he picks up his pace, and Louis shudders. Louis’ eyes are closed, his eyelashes casting shadows against his cheekbones, so he doesn’t expect the feel of Harry’s mouth as it envelopes his cock.

Harry sucks at the width, the friction of his lips eliciting a quietest of moans from Louis. Louis can feel Harry’s teeth graze over the most sensitive spots as he takes him in further, his hand wrapping around and working the base. When he pulls off, he doesn’t even give Louis the time to object, he just blows against the shaft, his cool breath causing Louis’ hands to fist into the sheets. Harry’s tongue circles around the head before he takes him in his mouth again, and Louis can feel the back of Harry’s throat as he swallows around him.

“Come for me, Lou,” Harry says, a string of spit from his lip still stuck to Louis’ dick. That’s just about what does it; hearing the words from the back of Harry’s scratchy throat, seeing the sheen of his reddened lips. When Harry swallows him down once more, Louis feels his toes curl and his eyes roll back and he’s shooting white hot into Harry’s mouth.

Harry coaxes him through his orgasm, his lips sucking around the head as he takes the spurts of cum down his throat. He pulls off and Louis sees the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows it down, and he helps Louis back into his pants.

“Come here, babe, you got a little—” Louis says, his breath uneasy in his bliss. He gathers the bit of cum from the corner of Harry’s mouth and thumbs over Harry’s plump bottom lip, and he sucks it off Louis’ finger, tongue swirling around his skin. Harry falls back onto the mattress and kisses Louis once more, and Louis can taste both himself and the sweet boy.

With the intent of returning the favour, Louis’ hands rake over Harry’s body before pulling at the drawstring of his pants, but Harry shakes his head into the pillow. “You’re not supposed to be doing the spoiling on your birthday,” he says.

“If you’re sure,” he shrugs, and Harry doesn’t say anything further on the matter, he just opens up his arm, inviting Louis in closer. Louis inches in and rests his head on Harry’s chest and he tangles their legs together under the sheets, finger tapping against the dip beneath Harry’s ribs. Louis’ gentle prodding relaxes Harry in the most tiring of ways, so he lets out a yawn and kisses the top of Louis’ head.

“Hey Lou?” He mumbles sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“Did you have a good birthday?”

“One of the best,” Louis breathes, and Harry smiles in the dark. Their eyes flutter closed, and they dream about sugarplums and all that, as the night before Christmas has them swimming in anticipation.

 

 

Harry and Louis both startle awake the next morning by the sound of children thumping down the stairs, running for the Christmas tree. They throw the covers off and run after them, hands sliding down the banister as they take each tired step. The girls are scattered out in front of the tree on their knees, eager to see what Santa has brought them.

“Look Lou!” Daisy exasperates from where she’s sat. “Santa ate all the cookies we left him!” She is in fact right, the plate on the mantle empty save for some crumbs.

Their names are scrawled messily on the tags on each wrapped gift signed by Santa Claus himself, and they’re waiting for the go ahead to open them. Jay walks into the living room with her sleepy husband at her side, and the two of them have never seen a room full of such excited and rambunctious kids so early in the morning.

Finally, once everybody’s ready they start shredding bits of wrapping paper, making a mess about the living room. The girls are lit up with thousand watt grins as they hold their presents out in front of them, showing them off to one another.

“I got a doll!” Phoebe says, showing everyone around the room.

“She’s pretty,” Jay says, and Phoebe grins, hugging the doll close to her chest.

“Look Daddy!” Genevieve says as she runs over, clutching her toy. “Santa brought me a teddy bear!”

“What are you gonna name him, love?” Louis asks, pulling Genevieve up onto his lap. She thinks for a moment, tapping a finger against her chin.

“Harry!”

“Yeah kiddo?” Harry’s brow quirks up, shooting Genevieve a funny face.

“No, silly. I’m going to name my bear Harry!”

“That is such a great name,” Harry says, nodding his head in approval.

The rest of the morning passes by much the same, the family taking part in exchanging gifts with one another in the glow of the morning. Christmas spirit continues to shine throughout the rest of the day, as they decorate gingerbread cookies in the afternoon, and especially around the table during the Tomlinson’s big Christmas dinner. It is collectively decided that Christmas is one of the best times of the year, spent warm with each other’s company and the love of family.

The Tomlinson’s are a grand family, sizably the kind of family that Harry isn’t used to. When they said their goodbyes the afternoon of their departure there were hugs going around to everyone, and by the time they had embraced every single one of them, the twins were sneaking their way back in for a second. Harry cherished his time with Louis’ family as if it were his own, and he hoped that one day they really would be. He’s not sure what he would do without Louis and that big quirky family of his, and besides, he fits right in.

When they got back to Manchester and were welcomed into their own comfortable flat, they weren’t alone for long. Zayn stopped by to spend time with the family he missed dearly, because they would be kidding themselves if he wasn’t a part of it in his own Zayn-kind-of-way.

This, though, wasn’t so busy and energetic, as normality kicked in after the excitation of holidays with their families and children running around and shouting with glee. They spent their day recollecting new memories and telling each other about their families and how they’re doing. Louis misses Zayn’s sisters greatly, so when he explained that his sister Waliyha was moving to Manchester, Louis was delighted to be able to see the beautiful girl again.

Zayn doesn’t stay much longer past dinner, he helps them clean up and then he’s ruffling Genevieve’s hair and giving her a kiss goodbye and he’s out the door. Louis and Harry decide to put off unpacking their things, heading for bed rather early on their first night back home. They tuck Genevieve in and read her Walt Whitman’s A Leaf for Hand in Hand before they too doze off in the comfort of their own bed. 

 

 

❖

 

 

Harry thinks it’s a good thing Louis had to work the next day. This is uncommon, as he’s never happy about Louis leaving to put in his eight hour shift at the mind-numbing call centre, but today is considerably different. He’s having a moment, actually. He’s thankful for the time alone.

Genevieve doesn’t go back to school until after New Year’s, but Harry had to make a quick call to Zayn, dialling with shaky fingers before begging Louis’ best friend to come pick her up. He stayed calm and casual, putting the thing back where it belongs and occupying the young girl until her uncle for all intents and purposes came through the door, swiping her off her feet with one arm. 

He’s got her slung over his shoulder, and she can feel the blood rushing to her head but she can’t help but laugh as he holds her upside down, because being four years old she finds it exhilarating. Zayn eyes the uneasy Harry over, silently wondering if he’s okay, but Harry brushes off the worry in his eyes and sends them out the door. He’s been pacing back and forth throughout the flat ever since.

It was about an hour ago now when it happened. He’s not sure what Genevieve was doing exactly, but she came barrelling from his and Louis’ bedroom with it in her hand. It was a small little box coated in rich black leather, and Harry knew what it was from the moment he caught sight of it out the corner of his eye.

“Harry what is this?” Genevieve asked, her voice laced with purest form of curiosity. He held out his hand and she dropped the small square box in his palm, and he felt his heart palpitating in his chest. He wasn’t going to open it. No, that wouldn’t be fair. He didn’t want to take even a single glance at it before Louis was ready for him to see it.

“It’s, uh—it’s nothing,” Harry choked over the words, so he cleared his throat once before even attempting to voice anymore. “Can you tell me where you found it?”

“Daddy’s sock drawer,” Genevieve told him in earnest. He shook his head, not even bothering to ask her why she was even going through his sock drawer. He’s learned she’s an odd child, and he loves her a whole hell of a lot, so he just sort of goes with it.

Honestly, he had a lump in his throat since he’d seen the thing, so he got swept up in his thoughts as he concentrated on trying to do just about anything except cry. So, yes it was his fault, but he didn’t see it coming when Genevieve’s small hands reached out and grabbed the black box back from the palm of his own. She flipped the lid over its hinges and revealed the ring that it held inside.

It was thick and pure gold, and of a wide circumference that undoubtedly looked a perfect fit to one of Harry’s own fingers. His hand twitched just at the glimpse, but he’d deny it if you asked. There were three small diamonds embedded into the top, though they didn’t protrude out past the surface, serving beauty in a perfectly subtle way.

“Here,” Harry said, holding out a palm. Genevieve handed the leather ring box back to him and he snapped it shut. “I don’t think we were supposed to find it, kiddo. We should put it back, come on.” 

So Genevieve led the way back to the bedroom, Harry trailing not far behind. She opened the drawer that she got it from, and Harry told her to put it back precisely the same way she found it. Looking into the drawer over the little girl, Harry managed to spot a second ring, one that’s not kept safe in a jewellery box, but lying on top of a 4x6 photograph.

It’s none of Harry’s business, and he knew that well enough. And he also knew that he’d seen more than he should have today. But could you blame him for being wired and wracked with curiosity, not unlike Genevieve’s own? So, he had closed the drawer, breathing deep in through the nose and out through the mouth, and sent Genevieve to the living room to watch cartoons for a bit. 

The second she was out of the room he quietly pulled the drawer open again and grabbed the loose ring, holding it up and taking in all of its features. This ring was made of white gold, and it was significantly smaller, and the light glinted off the each facet of the single, intricately shaped diamond.

He knew the intent behind the purchase of this ring from the moment he laid his eyes on it, but Harry was still scared. It wasn’t an obvious fear, it was the kind that had swept in with his conscious thought, and tugged at the back of his brain.

When he picked up the picture that the ring laid on top of, he had his confirmation. It was a photo of a petite girl with dark hair and a cavalier smile. Louis in all his teenage glory was beside her, his palms spread across the width of her round belly, wearing a grin of his own that contrasted hers. Harry had never seen such an off picture before; it displayed excitement, fear, love, and nervousness. Every detail of Louis’ expression couldn’t be mirrored in hers, and the thought could break Harry’s heart, the way it eventually did break Louis’. The last thing Harry took in was the way the diamond engagement ring was wrapped around the girls’ long, skinny finger of the hand that hung by her side. He turned the picture over, though he instantly regretted it. In skillful handwriting, someone had scrawled ‘Louis, Ruby, and baby-to-be. 2009.’ across the back.

Harry gulped and placed the picture back where Louis kept it in his sock drawer, putting the ring back on top like he found it, and he closed his eyes, letting his shoulders sink for a moment. When he met Genevieve back out in the living room his breath caught in his throat, because all he could see was her mother’s features woven into her beautiful face.

That’s when he called Zayn, and now that he’s picked her up Harry can breathe again. Barely. He tells himself it’s really not that big of a deal, but he just doesn’t know what to make of it. The ring was beautiful, they both were, really. Harry takes a glance at his left hand, and he admittedly thinks he wouldn’t mind having a ring to weigh down his fourth finger. It would be nice, very nice to make that promise to Louis. In fact, for the first time since he’d closed the little black box, Harry finds himself smiling, rather than feeling as though he’s about to implode.

But then he remembers the picture and the second ring, and the smile dissipates. He’s tired of pacing, so he slumps into the couch and he wriggles around to get his phone out of his pocket. There is absolutely nothing, Harry thinks, that a phone call to his best friend can’t fix.

“Ello?” Niall answers on the third ring. His breath is laboured, so Harry guesses he had to run to answer the call on time.

“You busy?” Harry asks, pressing his shaky fingers into his thigh, watching them stead just above his knee.

“Got time for a chat,” Niall says. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry sighs, feeling the weight ease off his chest as he says the words aloud. “I found a ring, man. Well, Genevieve found it, but that’s beside the point.”

“Like, an engagement ring?” Harry can hear pride fill in every crack of Niall’s voice.

“Yes, an engagement ring, Niall. What other kind of ring could it be?” Harry snaps. 

Niall, being Niall, pays no mind to the stress he can feel seeping in through the other line. Choosing to ignore it, he howls into the receiver. “So, should I start calling you Mr. Tomlinson now, or?”

“I wouldn’t be so rash on that, if I were you,” Harry deadpans.

“You’re not going to say no, are you? Christ, Harry, the fucking kid calls you dad,” Niall’s shaking his head. Harry can tell by the sound of his hair scratching against the phone. “If you say no, I’ll be pissed.”

“I’m not saying no, you idiot. I’m saying yeah, there’s a ring, but it probably won’t be on my finger any time soon. It might not even be mine! It’s just—it was just there okay. It was shiny and gold and staring at me.”

“Harry that man looks at you like the sun is shining out of your ass. Stop being an idiot,” Niall argues. “Look, okay, do you love him?”

“Yes, but—”

“Does he love you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then there’s no buts! Why are you second guessing this? The fucking man is going to propose to you, mate, and for some reason we’re both barely able to keep it together right now for very different reasons,” Niall, as humorous as he may be, is actually very logical. He thinks in the simplest of ways, and has a very gratifying outlook on life. Two plus two always equals four, being in love and buying an engagement ring always seems sensible. There are just things that Harry wishes he didn’t know at this point, and that of course being the neighbouring ring.

“It’s not that simple, Ni,” Harry sighs. “There was another one.”

“Another what?”

“Another ring, okay! There was a second ring, and there was a photograph,” Harry pouts. “There was a photograph of Louis and Genevieve’s mother, and, I don’t know. I’m just—”

“Bothered by it?” Niall assumes. “It’s okay to be upset, you know that right? It’s totally justifiable to be bothered by the fact that your boyfriend has a ring that he once gave to someone else.”

“That’s not it,” Harry bunches his hair in his hands and pulls at the roots. “I don’t know, what if he’s not over her? I saw the fucking picture, Niall, he was head-over-heels. He never looks at anyone like that. Nobody except—”

“Nobody except you, I get it. Little Harry is jealous,” Niall says lightly. “Talk to him about it, okay? It’s probably not easy for him, I mean, think about it. They had a kid together. He wakes up every morning and sees that little girl. That’s a daily reminder of not only her, but also a reminder that she left.”

“So what do I do?” Harry asks.

“Listen, I’ve never been in this sort of thing before, so my opinion means shit, but I promise you he’s moved on. He couldn’t love you the way he does if he were still hung up on her, could he? No, so you shouldn’t feel threatened. I say that you should talk to him about it, and when he decides to pop the question don’t over think it. Don’t give up what you’ve got, Harry, because that shit’s special,” says Niall. “Would it make you happy if he proposed?”

“Fucking delighted, Ni.”

“Then I think you know what to do, yeah?” Harry’s thankful that Niall always knows what to say. “Don’t forget about this conversation when it comes time to pick your best man.”

Harry is about to make a joke, but he hears a key turn in the lock and soon the front door is swinging open and Louis is calling out Harry’s name. “Lou’s home, so I’ve gotta go,” Harry mumbles before hitting end call. Harry knows he should talk to Louis about it, but he finds it too easy to push the thoughts to the back of his head and spend his time basking in Louis’ company.

 

 

❖

 

 

Harry decides to be patient. He has decided that he will wait until Louis pulls out the ring to ask any (hopefully un)presumptuous questions. The ring idea flits from his mind, given, not so easily, but in a way that is manageable. 

It’s not hard to get distracted, anyhow, what with living with Louis and Genevieve. The two of them are rambunctious and spontaneous, and they take Harry for new sorts of spins on the daily. Take for example, Harry came home just the other day to a full on game of twister in the living room: last person standing with their balance in tact got to pick the movie they would watch that evening. Harry doesn’t count the wink he threw at Genevieve before wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist, startling him to the ground as cheating, necessarily. So they ended up watching the Little Mermaid for perhaps the millionth time.

Today though, the distractions are just as potent. Zayn had burst through the door like a damn wreck, his hair unkempt and nervous sweats visible. Louis was about to let a joke at his best friend’s expense roll off his tongue, but he bit it back at the expression on Zayn’s face and jumped up from his chair and swaddled him in a hug.

“It’s a date thing,” Zayn explains. Louis nods, because he understands, but Harry however wonders why these idiots get so worked up over dates. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on Louis that it didn’t matter if things went perfect or not, though of course he wanted them to be, but it was just the thought behind it that counts. Harry doesn’t think there is such thing as a ‘bad date’, as long as you enjoy being in the company of the other person.

“I thought you were seeing that girl, what’s her name? With the black hair? Lauren?” Louis cocks an eyebrow at Zayn, who just shakes his head and smothers his face with the palms of his hands.

“A couple of one night stands don’t mean anything, Louis,” Zayn shrugs, essentially trying to disregard the Lauren thing completely. “This is, um, different? It’s a guy, Lou. A bloody attractive guy, who I’m going to fuck everything up with because I haven’t been with a guy since, what, high school?”

“Zayn,” Louis sighs. “It’s the same thing. But at the end of the night, if you fuck on the first date, who even does that—”

“You,” Zayn recalls. Harry smirks delightedly to himself.

“Shut up. If it goes well, then at the end of the night you’re just dealing with parts quite similar to your own. And please don’t make me sit you down and explain further, because I think you should have this covered by now.”

“I’m good, please stop.” Zayn says, dropping his hands to his side where they smack against his thighs in defeat. “Help me get ready?”

“Sure thing Zaynie,” Louis flicks Zayn’s nose and spins him in the direction of the bathroom, smacking his butt as he pushes him down the hall. “First things first, go take a fucking shower.”

When Zayn comes out of the bathroom he smells like Louis’ aftershave, and he follows Louis into his bedroom, clad in a thick towel. Louis has two outfits lying out on his bed, and he gestures a hand out to both of them.

“So, who is this guy? What’s his name? What’s he like?” Louis muses. Zayn picks the outfit he likes best and begins to shrug the shirt on.

“No way, not telling you,” he refuses. “I’m going to avoid any and every possible chance of jinxing this, so there is no way I’m going to gush about him to you.”

“For now,” Louis narrows his eyes, throwing the crisp trousers at Zayn. After he’s all dressed Louis preens a little, straightening his collar out and cuffing his sleeves. “Here, put these on,” Louis reaches into his closet for a pair of black shoes and he tosses them over his shoulder at Zayn, who manages to catch one and fumble the other.

“Damn it Louis,” he grumbles.

“So how are my boys doing?” Harry asks as he waltzes into the room. “Wow Zayn, you clean up nice.”

It’s not jealousy that flares up in Louis, it’s not, okay, it was just a little compliment—given, a compliment not directed towards him, but—no shut up he’s not jealous. He’s just coincidentally reaching out to grab Harry by the waist at this particular moment. Prying his eyes off of Zayn. Coincidentally. Because yeah, Zayn does clean up nice, but whatever. It’s a coincidence.

Harry laughs and falls easily into Louis’ arms, “You look good all the time though, baby.”

“Thank you,” Louis pouts, running a hand over the round of Harry’s bum.

“God, fuck, one of you leave,” Zayn chokes. “It’s fucking disgusting to be third party to one of your love fests.”

“Remind me of this conversation when he brings his new boyfriend around,” Louis spits, and Harry giggles before parting from Louis with a kiss.

“I’ve got to pick Genevieve up from school anyway,” Harry says, and he zips from the room, leaving them two of them to their preparations to go get his favourite girl.

Harry spends the car ride to Genevieve’s nursery school with the radio volume up high and his fingers tapping along to the beat on the steering wheel. He keeps himself distracted playing out the rhythm, often humming along. The windows are rolled down a little bit, letting the sharp January breeze roll in and sweep through his hair.

When he gets to the school he finds Genevieve’s classroom with ease, sending a hello in the direction of her teacher and a smile to the other kids gathering their stuff up to go home. Harry helps her zip up her backpack and slide on her coat, and soon enough she’s ready to leave.

“So how was school today?” Harry asks as he helps her into her car seat and buckles her in.

“Good,” Genevieve grins. “We were finger painting this afternoon.”

“Do I get to see the masterpiece?”

“When I bring it home,” Genevieve nods. “It has to finish drying first.”

“Of course,” Harry agrees.

When they get home they shuffle through the door and Genevieve spots Zayn within a fraction of a second, flinging herself at him. He hugs her close to his chest and ruffles her hair before setting her back on her feet.

“How was school today for the little genius?” Zayn asks. She flattens her hair back down before making an unsatisfied face.

“Are you calling me names?” Genevieve accuses, to which Zayn throws his hands up in innocence.

“Of course not sweetheart,” he smiles.

“Oh, okay! It was good.”

Zayn just shakes his head in incredulous wonder at her, glad that she enjoyed herself at school. Before anyone can bat an eye at him, Louis comes barrelling down the hallway, his feet pounding against the hardwoods with an exaggerated stomp, and he comes to an impromptu halt before swiping Genevieve off her feet and tickling her to death in his arms.

“Daddy, stop!” She shrieks, the shrill of her voice piercing throughout the flat. She attempts to catch a breath between bouts of laughter, “Daddy!”

“What was that?” He teases, his menacing fingers tickling every inch of her tummy. “Did you say more?”

“No—” Genevieve doubles over and hangs from his arms, still hiccupping out chimed laughs. “Harry! Harry help!”

“Oooh,” Louis drags out the ‘o’ as he brings the tickling to a stop, “you said stop. Well, if I must.” Genevieve relaxes in his arms, settling into his side, and she blows her tangled hair out of her face with a hmph. Louis places a big animated kiss on her cheek before giving her a squeeze. “I missed you so much, my little munchkin.”

“I missed you too,” she says, hugging him back before kicking her legs and squirming to be set down. Louis lets her go and she grabs his hand, pulling in the direction of the kitchen. “Can you make me a snack?”

“Something sugary?” Louis grins, winking at Harry, who rolls his eyes at the both of them. Genevieve nods definitely and Louis lets her drag him off, stopping only to smack Zayn on the shoulder on the way by. “Good luck with the date. However if you score tonight, please don’t give me the details.”

“Deal,” Zayn nods, turning to wave goodbye to Harry and head for the door.

Louis is just handing Genevieve a plate with a couple cookies and a glass of milk when he hears the door open, and before it shuts he calls over his shoulder, “That shirt is dry-clean only!” and he can practically hear Zayn flipping him off as the front door closes behind him.

 

 

“No, no, no. Lou, stop. I did not forget my wallet, I did not spill my drink all over myself, and I certainly did not ejaculate prematurely, jesus christ,” Zayn snaps into the phone, his voice ringing in Louis’ ear.

“Sorry, okay! Libido was on point, got it,” Louis laughs, “Date went well then?”

“Even better than the heavens could have promised,” Zayn sighs.

“I was serious about not giving me the details, and you’re not holding up your end of the bargain here, Malik.” Louis knows Zayn is in going into overdrive, so he holds the phone away from his ear before he can catch wind of Zayn droning on and on about it being a religious experience or something completely inappropriate of the sort.

“Louis? Lou? Louis, put the damn phone back to your ear!” At first Louis was just ignoring him, but he had somehow lost track of what he was doing, becoming mildly entertained by the muted voice coming from the speaker of his phone a few inches from him.

“Shit, sorry.”

“We’ve got another date planned soon,” Zayn sounds delighted and Louis is more than glad.

“So it was good then, that’s great. Really. Welcome to manhood or whatever, but commitment isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Louis says sarcastically as Harry strides into the room. He cocks an eyebrow at Louis, as if to say oh is that so? before coming over and sliding onto his lap, a knee digging into the couch cushions on either side of Louis’ waist. “Really, before you know it he’s gonna—shit—move in with you,” Harry circles his hips down on Louis’ groin a few times, slightly complicating his phone call. “Take up space, throw away your porn, start—fuck Harry—”

“Are you having sex right now? Like while we are on the phone? Are you fucking kidding me?” And before Louis can properly deny anything Zayn hangs up and leaves the dial tone sounding in Louis’ ear, but he can’t be bothered, dropping the phone and letting it clatter to the couch as he places his hands on Harry’s sides.

Harry however, failing to be impressed by Louis’ commitment jokes, takes this opportunity while Louis is desperate for more friction to slap the palms of his hands down on his boyfriend’s thighs and shrug simply before peeling himself off of Louis’ lap and walking away with a smirk like no other.

“Not fair,” Louis grumbles. “Not fair, not fair, not fair.”

 

 

❖

 

 

January has come to a close, but the crisp cold air doesn’t hesitate to linger. Harry curls himself smaller in the sheets, clinging to Louis’ body and shuddering against his skin at sunrise on a cool Saturday morning. Louis runs his fingers down the length of Harry’s back, as though he were feeding his warmth to his boy through his soft, lingering finger pads.

“Harry, we gotta get up,” Louis murmurs.

“Don’t wanna,” Harry mumbles. “Wanna stay in bed with you all day.”

“It’s your birthday, can’t waste the day lazing,” Louis smiles into Harry’s messy hair.

“S’not wasting it if that’s what I want,” he argues. He’s got a point, but.

“Nope, up you get. Go take a shower, breakfast will be waiting for you when you’re out.” And with that said, Louis pries Harry’s locked limbs from around his torso, gives him a kiss, and throws his legs off the side of the bed. He shakes the sleep from his head and picks a wrinkled shirt up off the floor and slides it on before stumbling, drunk from sleep, all the way to the kitchen.

The noise of a few bowls and pans clinking brings a little girl wandering into the room, her static-y hair clinging to her fleece pyjama top, and she rubs the sleep from her eyes before walking over and pulling on her father’s shirt to get his attention. Louis hoists her up and she nestles on his hip, wrapping her legs around his waist and pressing her cheek to the warm skin of his neck, hoping that maybe she can find rest there and sleep until she can welcome the morning the way it has welcomed her.

“Wanna help me make some pancakes?” Louis asks softly, and she nods her head a couple times, and when she tries to blink the sleep from her eyes, Louis can feel her long lashes flutter against his skin. “It’s a very special day.”

“It is?” Genevieve asks.

“Yeah munchkin, it’s Harry’s birthday!” Louis tells her proudly. “These are birthday pancakes,” he says, as though the fact that they are being made on the day of someone’s birthday will make them any better; fluffier, maybe sweeter, perhaps.

“Oh.”

With his daughter nuzzled into his side, Louis goes back to taking out all the ingredients they need for pancakes, setting the flour and eggs on the counter carefully. He’s decided to try not to make a mess, as perhaps because it is his birthday and all, they should spare Harry of the stroke he would undoubtedly have if they trashed the place.

He mixes the batter with a whisk, struggling to get it done right with a child in his arms, but he makes do. Genevieve reaches from her perch for one of the cupboard doors that happens to be just barely out of her reach. Louis leans in a bit, giving her that extra inch and she swings the door open and scans the shelves for what she’s looking for. She pulls a small container out and shakes it in front of both their faces.

“Can we put sprinkles in the pancakes?” She smiles. “They are birthday pancakes, after all.”

“Sprinkles, that’s genius! Of course we can put sprinkles in them,” Louis grins in return.

Maybe sprinkles weren’t all that genius, but whatever, Harry will love his birthday breakfast anyway, Louis decides. Harry enters the kitchen, his hair dripping onto his shirt, the very moment that Louis is setting the plates on the kitchen table and Genevieve is taking her seat.

Harry eyes his plate warily as he sits in the vacant seat besides Genevieve. The pancake is massive, about the size of the entire plate. There are two cookies on it, for eyes, he guesses, and strip of bacon formed into a smile beneath them. It looks delicious, of course, except for the blotches in his pancake. He looks over the other two plates, and sure enough theirs are blotchy too.

“Lou, this is lovely,” Harry says, though his voice sounds unsure.

“But?”

“But, um, why does it look like a rainbow puked on the pancakes?” He’s not trying to offend. Seriously. He’s just a little bit…concerned.

“Well, we thought we’d put some sprinkles in your birthday pancakes, which are apparently becoming a Thing, but we weren’t expecting them to melt and bleed into the batter while it was cooking. It’s not a big deal so just suck it up and eat your damn birthday pancakes,” Louis tells him. Harry unfurrows his brows and shrugs, picking up the strip of bacon and taking a bite. 

Other than the sprinkle bleeding rainbow blotchy pancakes, breakfast goes over extremely well, as per usual. Louis relieves Harry from having to clean the mess afterward, sending him to do whatever it is he pleases, which of course, just happens to be tidying up the rouse of mess Louis always leaves behind him, that of which can be compared to the magnitude of an earthquake. But Harry settles for popping one of his favourite rom-coms into the dvd player and snuggling up on the couch with Genevieve as they wait for Louis to join them in the living room.

Harry tears up unabashedly, because, well, they are just so in love. But Louis, however, does not cry. Those aren’t tears streaming down his face, because Louis simply doesn’t cry. Especially over funny romance movies that get incredibly sappy toward their inevitable end. He’s not crying.

After the movie the day transitions seamlessly into the afternoon and Louis is pleased. See, he’s woken up this morning only to be dawned with idealized perfection. While Harry is entertaining Genevieve (well Louis assumes she is being entertained and hopefully not like, dying, as she screams to no avail from the living room), Louis heads for the bedroom, shutting the door behind himself. He looks to his wrist, eyeing over the delicate charms on the bracelet Harry had gotten him for his birthday, and he dangles them simply with an undeniably hopeful smile. Using the hand where the charm bracelet hangs from, Louis opens up the top drawer of his nightstand, pushing all his clean socks to the side before grabbing the small black box.

The small leather jewellery box fits perfectly in the palm of his hand, and he encloses his fingers around it, closing his eyes while he clutches it within his grasp. Yes, he decides, it’s finally right. Today is the day. And with that satisfaction, he pops open the box to take another good look at the ring he’s been hiding for a couple of months now, imagining the way it would accent Harry in all the best ways. It’s not just an accessory, as the ring is also a promise, of course, accenting all the inner desires that the both of them share.

Genevieve’s playful shouts are coming down the hall now, getting worriedly closer to Louis’ bedroom, so he places the ring box carefully back in his drawer before pushing it shut and lying back on his bed, the feel of his charm bracelet warm and weighing down his wrist.

“Lou, babe! Your phone’s ringing,” Harry calls from…the bathroom? Sure enough, when Louis pulls himself from the room he finds Genevieve literally standing on the bathroom vanity while she brushes her teeth, Harry standing behind to steady her. He doesn’t question it.

Louis finds his phone, which he just so happened to have left in the living room, where it’s screaming out his ringtone at full volume. He knows it’s Zayn before he even answers the call.

“Hey,” Zayn says, “how do you feel about a double date tonight?”

“I’ll have to take a rain check on that one, it’s Harry’s birthday,” Louis says.

“Oh come on Lou,” Louis knows Zayn, and he knows that Zayn will do everything he can before he has to beg, but begging is something that he will stoop to if that’s what he has to do to get what he wants.

“Sorry mate. I’ve got um, plans,” he tells him, sincerely sorry. “Reschedule?”

“Please,” and there it is. Zayn’s begging. “Please Lou, my, uh, boyfriend wants to meet you.”

“You know, you can’t keep up this mystery about who he is anymore if we meet him.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. But this was his idea, not mine, so just. Please, ask Harry? Do it for me?” This is the point where Louis would inevitably give in, however, he’s got a hyper four year old who is currently jumping off a bathroom counter, and that is all he needs to save him from doing so.

“There’s no one to watch Genevieve though, so I really can’t. Sorry babes,” Louis says, a lack of reluctance in his voice.

“Bring her? I don’t know,” Zayn sighs. Louis just gives another apology and says he can’t go, to which he gets a “Figures, but it was worth a shot,” muttered from his best friend before he hangs up.

He’ll make it up to him, they can go out on a double date next weekend or something. It’s really not that big of a deal. What is, though, is the fact that his plans are still perfectly intact for tonight. Harry strides out of the bathroom with Genevieve perched on his back and he stops when he gets to Louis in the living room.

“What was that about?” Harry asks, and Genevieve mouths the words smugly behind Harry’s head as though she’s mocking him. Louis sticks his tongue out at her before acknowledging Harry’s question.

“Oh, uh, it was nothing. Zayn wanted us to go out with him and that boyfriend of his tonight,” Louis says with a shrug. “But I told him we can’t go, because I’ve already got plans and there’s no one to watch this little monster, so.”

“Oh. Well,” Harry says, and Louis is definitely afraid of that hopeful lilt to his voice. “My mum called earlier, actually. Said she’s in Manchester, and she’s gonna stop in tonight to see me for my birthday. So she can watch Genevieve, I’m sure she won’t mind. And that way we can go out?”

“But,” Louis says, his shoulders slouching in. He’s pretty sure he’s incapable of denying Harry anything at this point, so he’s already given in. “I had plans,” his voice is small and Harry barely hears him.

“I’m sure they’re lovely plans,” Harry assures. “And we can go about them when we’re home, and as soon as we see my mum off, yeah?”

“I suppose,” Louis grumbles, fishing his phone out of his pocket to call Zayn and make his day, or whatever.

“I love you,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says. “Love you too.”

 

 

Nobody listens to Louis, when time and time again he proves himself to be the man of reason and better judgement. They shouldn’t have gone out with Zayn tonight, they should have just stayed home and Louis could have made a romantic candle lit dinner (albeit alongside a four year old who would’ve been joining them at the table), and Louis could go about this plans the way he’d perfectly constructed. But no.

He’s been holding his breath since he walked into the restaurant and taken his seat beside Harry at the table. That was about a minute and a half ago, so surely he’s an astonishing shade of red or blue by now? That doesn’t really matter because all he knows is he can’t breathe and he needs to get out and ignore everyone else’s suggestions from here on out.

It’s not the restaurant that puts the damper on the evening, and it’s not the lively customers that give the place a friendly atmosphere. Well, not customers per se, just one in particular that’s got Louis choked up. Louis finds Harry’s hand under the table and squeezes gently as he looks up and meets eyes with Liam Payne, doctor-to-be, for the first time since they’d taken their seats.

So, yes, they should have listened to Louis. But now they’re here, and they’re probably in for an eventful evening. 

Zayn runs introductions through painfully slow. Well, in Louis’ personal opinion they could have been sped up a little bit, but he wasn’t about to put his foot in his mouth and say he’s already met Liam before, and he’s also a bit thankful that Liam doesn’t say anything either.

The waitress skirts over to the table, placing menus in front of all four of them and telling them the specials before giving them a minute to look things over. When she comes back, she’s got a notepad in-hand. “Can I start you lads off with any appetizers?”

“No thanks, but you can start us off with a round of drinks,” Louis suggests, to which everyone else quietly agrees.

“I’ll have a beer,” Zayn says. Harry and Liam chime in a quick “me too.”

“Do you want a pitcher, or pints all around?” She asks gingerly.

“A pitcher is fine, yeah,” Zayn shrugs, to which the waitress nods.

“Got it. You too?” She asks, finally getting to Louis.

Louis looks up and takes one more glance at Liam before saying, “I’ll have a vodka, please. On the rocks.”

And when the waitress leaves, Harry brings a hand up to the back of Louis’ neck, his fingers curling around the hair there. Harry has an impeccable sense of intuition when it comes to Louis, and Louis doesn’t personally understand it, but Harry just knows what he’s feeling and what he needs, and right now Louis definitely needs the soft touches of Harry’s fingertips scratching gently at the back of his head.

The waitress saunters back over with a round tray balancing on the palm of one of her hands, the other resting on her hip until she uses it to set each class in front of their corresponding man. She sets the pitcher of beer between them and gives Louis’ drink a quick stir with its small straw before setting it front of him. She tells them she’ll be back in a bit to take their orders, and Louis shrugs, bemused, before plucking the straw from his glass and tossing it to the table, bringing the short glass to his lips.

As alcohol frequently does, it smells like nail polish remover and burns just like it going all the way down. He hisses and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before he lets it wander under the table to find Harry’s thigh. He really, really doesn’t want to be here. But he knows Harry does, and so he does what he can to make the night tolerable; taking another drink and shuffling his chair over a bit so he’s close enough to smell Harry’s cologne.

The waitress comes back around when the beer pitcher is empty, taking it off their hands and promising to return with another. When she sets the new one down she says, “Alright, so what will it be?”

“I’ll have the nachos, please. Hold the jalapenos, though,” Zayn says, handing his menu over to her. Liam orders next, followed by Harry, and soon enough the waitress is looking to Louis for an answer.

“Oh, uh,” he mumbles, realizing he hasn’t even touched his menu. Instead he just hands the thing to her and points to Harry, saying, “I’ll have whatever he’s having,” with a faux grin. Louis can feel the narrowed gaze of both Harry and Zayn burning through him, but he averts his eyes to the ceiling so he doesn’t have to look at either of them, or Liam for that matter, considering he’s the reason why Louis is such a mess.

Spinning his glass around in his hand and listening to the tinker of the ice hitting the glass, Louis thinks about the time he went to dinner with Liam. He thinks about what sort of place that put him in for future romantic decisions. He distinctly remembers giving Harry a hard time after using Liam as an excuse to hide his self-doubts, while he juggled the even worse doubts in others. 

Louis’ date with Liam brought on a sense of insecurity in him, a second thought towards how he was living his life, and what things he needed to prioritize. It took Harry coming into Louis life, and fighting to be a part of it for Louis to realize that one man’s life might be successful depending on his organization, but it was okay for Louis to go about seeking success in his own chaotic way.

“Lou?” Harry says, shaking his arm, and pulling him from whatever trance he’d zoned in on. Louis gives his head a quick shake before looking to Harry, whose eyes shift up toward their waitress, who’s staring at him, rather confused.

“Actually, never mind. He doesn’t seem to need another,” she says, taking his empty glass from the table. When had he set it down?

“No, I’m fine,” Louis blurts. “Promise, that’s all I’ve had. Just got a lot on the mind, is all.”

“Would you like another, then?” She asks impatiently. Louis wonders how many times she’s asked that now.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, but when he looks over to Harry he’s met with eyes washed with concern, so instead he coughs once before changing his order. “Actually, I’ll just have a beer, instead.”

And when she leaves it’s with a nod, and Harry is able to settle back comfortably in his seat. Louis silently wishes he could do the same. He’s sitting close quarters with three other people at this small table, and he knows he’s got to talk with each of them. And without a doubt, he knows the first has to be Liam.

The waitress brings over their food, setting a plate in front of each of them, as well as a pint in front of Louis. Louis makes a conscious effort to laugh at all the right jokes being tossed back and forth, remembering to stick his trademark witty comments in here and there, and even act normal in the sense of throwing food from his plate over at Zayn, who lets out a girlish shriek before flinging nacho chips at Louis like frisbee discs.

When they’re nearly done Liam stands up and excuses himself to the bathroom. This dawns on Louis as the perfect time to talk to him, so Louis clears his throat and pushes himself from the table, placing a kiss on Harry’s lips before he leaves, as he’s afraid that if worse comes to worst, that might be his last opportunity to do so. Louis doesn’t know what to expect, but he knows there’s a chance that things might not blow over well.

He waltzes into the bathroom, and Liam looks over his shoulder at Louis. “Oh. What are you doing here?”

“Look, Liam,” Louis sighs. “I came to talk.”

“Well, I came to pee, if that’s alright with you,” Liam quips. But he’s zipping up his trousers and heading for the sink, and suddenly Louis panics. He presses himself up against the bathroom door so Liam can’t get out, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well, neither of us are leaving until you hear what I have to say,” Louis tells him, to which Liam makes an impatient sound. Louis still takes this as a win. “I’m not going to bullshit you, Liam, I didn’t lose your number. I, uh, threw it away.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” Liam shakes his head. “But I don’t really care, so if you’ll excuse me now, I’d like to get back out there.”

“No, listen. It’s not you—”

“Don’t pull that shit with me now, Louis, it’s been almost a year,” Liam snaps.

“God, will you shut up?” Louis has never met anyone who talks as much as himself, until Liam, apparently. “Sorry. Right, okay. You aren’t the reason I didn’t call you back after that date, okay? There’s a lot you don’t know, but it was definitely all on me. You were telling me all these plans, yeah? And don’t get me wrong, they were great! And I wish you all the best, of course. But the thing is, I’m twenty-two years old and I’ve got a daughter who’s about to turn five in just a couple weeks around the corner, and I don’t think I’ve had anything planned since before she was born, if I’m honest.”

Liam is eyeing Louis like he’s skeptical, though his brows are arched way up, showing empathy for him.

“Please, um, don’t make it any more than it is. It’s not really about that, anyway. I was intimidated, and embarrassed by my life in comparison to yours, and I couldn’t call you back afterward feeling like that, okay?” Louis takes a moment to breathe while he lets Liam process that. “What do you think?”

“I think that you might not be as much of a dick as I took you for, I suppose,” Liam mumbles. “But quick question. Does Zayn know—?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Louis frowns. “I’ll talk to him tonight though.”

“Don’t bother,” Liam says, smiling for the first time. “You’re off the hook, I’ll take care of it.”

And with that, they find Zayn and Harry back at the table and they finish their night off with one more round of drinks. “Should I bring over your bills now?” The waitress asks as she begins clearing glasses off the table.

“Just one will do,” Liam says, shushing the others’ protests as he fishes out his wallet. “Seriously guys, my treat.”

On their way out Harry searches the air between them for Louis’ hand, gripping his fingers like he’s missed them on their trek back to the car in the lot. Louis’ small hand enclosed in Harry’s brings on the kind of warmth that Louis lives for, the kind that spreads right to his bones. When they get home they’re bombarded at the door with hugs from Genevieve and welcome back kisses on their cheeks from Anne, and it’s unanimously decided that it’s time to get the little one to bed.

Once her teeth are brushed and dressed in warm pyjamas, she gets snuggly under her blankets, requesting all three of them to tuck her in, handing Harry the Walt Whitman book with a grin. Louis eyes up the couple of other books stacked on top of one another on her nightstand, and he figures that eventually he’ll have to get her a shelf for them as her collection grows.

“How about we read A Glimpse, tonight?” Harry suggests, and Genevieve nods in agreement. 

Anne is standing just inside the doorway, fondly watching the three of them as they go through their bedtime routine. Harry is perched on the end of the bed with the book in his lap, and Louis is on the floor, mindlessly worrying the hem of Harry’s pant leg within his fingers. As per usual, she can’t help but smile at the easy dynamics of this cozy little family.

“A glimpse, through and interstice caught,

Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,

Late of a winter night—And I unremark’d seated in the corner;

Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;

A long while, amid the noises of coming and going—of drinking and oath and smutty jest,

There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.”

Harry’s thumb brushes over the page before he closes the book, and he sets it back in its place on the stack of others. Each of them place a kiss on her forehead before turning out the lights and closing the door, making their way back to the living room.

Louis decides that tonight just isn’t the night, so he pats his pockets to feel for the ring box, knowing he has to put it away. He tells Anne it was lovely to see her again, excusing himself by saying, “I’ll just give you some time with Harry,” and turning for his room after giving her a hug goodbye.

“Lou?” Harry says softly. He’d followed him down the hallway apparently, though Louis hadn’t heard his footfalls behind him. Louis turns to face him, his exhaustion from the day worn on his face, and Harry reaches a hand out to touch his shoulder, but he pulls it back and lets his arm hang in the air for a moment. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah babe,” Louis tells him, tugging his lips upward. “Everything’s fine.”

“Are we okay?” Harry asks. Louis realizes that’s what he had meant by the last question, and he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. He hadn’t meant for his fueled regret to cause Harry any unhappiness. Of course everything between them is okay, well, at least Louis was under the impression that they were, considering today was the day he was going to propose.

Louis cups Harry’s face in both of his hands, and he kisses him gently, wholly, dragging out the kiss as he pulls Harry’s bottom lip between both of his. “Never better,” he smiles against Harry’s mouth before pulling back, relieved to see Harry’s hurt washed away from those beautiful eyes of his. “Now go spend some time with your mum,” Louis says, tugging on one of his bouncy curls. “Happy birthday, Harry.”

“Love you,” Harry breathes before leaving to do just that.

Louis walks in and takes a seat on his bed, sighing as he tosses the little black box into the back of his sock drawer and crawls into bed. He sleeps soundly through the night, if you don’t count the short moment he was woken restlessly as Harry slid into bed, encasing Louis in his warm arms.

 

 

 

❖

 

 

Louis had started carrying the ring around with him everywhere, desperate to jump on the opportunity the moment it rouses. Unfortunately for him, there hasn’t been the perfect timing where everything goes off all at once and his body screams at him to blurt out the question and ask Harry to be his all, officially. So, the little black box stayed cozy inside the inner pocket of his jacket, the feel of it against his chest as he continues to go about his days.

Valentine’s Day soon approaches, and Louis is sure the opportunity will come forth tonight. He thinks about how cheesy it is to make such a grand gesture of love on Valentine’s Day, but then he thinks about just how cheesy their entire relationship is, and he’s well comforted by the fact the fact that at least Harry probably won’t laugh at him.

It doesn’t happen though. Well, okay, it does, it just technically doesn’t happen on Valentine’s Day. But whatever, pay no mind to the specifics.

Louis used to be a deep sleeper. Louis used to pride himself on the fact that the apocalypse could be happening right outside his bedroom window and he would sleep through it like it was nothing but sunshine and the sandman rowing him along his bout of sleep. But being a father involves a lot more keen attention and intuition than you can give while sleeping as though you’re actually in a coma. So, Louis went from sleeping like the dead to waking up in the middle of the night at the feint noise of his daughter sighing in her sleep.

This fact seems to put Harry into a sort of an inconvenient disposition on the morning of Valentine’s Day. He was up bright and early, before anyone else in the house, actually, trying to make breakfast, and it was all going great until Harry slipped on some spilled water and everything went clattering to the floor. This is when the day’s reel of excitement begins.

Louis clambers to the kitchen with droopy, tired eyes, and he finds the mess splattered out on the floor all around Harry, who’s lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling and probably contemplating whether or not his life is even worth going on from here. “Harry?” He asks, a small giggle escaping his lips.

“There’s egg in my hair, Louis, now is not the time.” Harry squeezes his eyes shut, the florescent light above still managing to blind him.

“Come here, love,” Louis laughs as he grabs Harry’s now sticky hands and pulls him up off the ground. “How about I run you a shower, and once I get this mess all cleaned up I’ll meet you in there?”

Harry gives a slight nod, his lips jutting out into a pout. Louis leads him to the bathroom and runs the water, letting it warm up as he strips his boy down and runs his fingers through those disheveled curls, successfully removing the bits of breakfast food stuck in his hair. As soon as he gets Harry under the spray of the water he’s out of the room, picking everything up off the floor and wiping it clean with the mop from the closet.

He checks the time and figures they’ve got about twenty minutes before Genevieve will be up for school, so he heads back to the bathroom, stopping only once to grab two of their warmest towels on the way. 

He doesn’t waste any time throwing his clothes to the floor and slipping past the shower curtain, joining Harry under the pressure of the falling water. Harry’s just finished lathering his body and Louis helps him rinse the suds away, his fingertips slipping over his slick, inked skin.

Harry’s shoulders are slouched, leaving Louis, for what is most definitely the first time ever, to be the taller of the two of them. Louis puts a finger under Harry’s chin and lifts his gaze upward until he looks into those mossy green eyes of his, only slightly filmed by the cloud of steam that curls around them. He kisses him, long and hard, lips desperate to taste the others and eager to fill them with desire and warmth. When Louis breaks the kiss he sees a few haphazard droplets trickle down Harry’s face and over his reddened lips, leaving a sheening trail in its wake.

He grabs the bottle of shampoo and squeezes a dollop onto the top of Harry’s head and begins to work it into his dark, wet hair. Massaging it into his stringy curls, Louis kisses the junction between Harry’s neck and shoulder, drops of water collecting at the contact between their lips and skin.

A shiver runs down Harry’s spine and his body chases it with a twitch before Louis can even process the fact that the water went from steamy and warm and inviting to cold and sharp, raining in over their heads. It should be an automatic thing, really, to jump out of the ice cold shower, but it’s not, apparently. Louis’ fingers splay out, soapy with shampoo between his fingers, over Harry’s arms, rigid with gooseflesh. His teeth begin to clatter together by the time he reaches for the tap and stops the shower, and Harry pushes open the curtain and first turns to wrap Louis in an oversized towel before doing so for himself.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, his annoyance for this already god awful day showing on his face. He’s almost disappointed when Louis isn’t sulking alongside him.

“Babe,” Louis says, a lilt of laughter lifting his voice. “You’ve still got shampoo in your hair.” Harry frowns and reaches a hand up to his head and just as he had expected, it comes back covered in fruit scented bubbles. “Come here,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s hand and dragging him to the kitchen. “Let’s finish this up, yeah?” He grabs a pot and fills it up in the sink before putting it on the stove to warm it up.

While it’s warming up Louis runs to get changed, bringing Harry back a pair of sweatpants that he slides on himself and when Louis comes back from tossing their towels in a hamper he figures the water is warm enough now, so he flicks off the stove and sets the pot of warm water on the counter.

“Just bend over the sink, yeah?” Louis says, and Harry does so as he pours the warmed water over his hair, using his fingers to rake through foamy curls, watching as the soap whirls down the drain. “That should do it,” he says, considerably satisfied with his problem-solving. He dries Harry off with a fresh towel, but he’s hasn’t got enough patience left for that, apparently, because he shakes his head and droplets of water spray around the whole kitchen.

“Harry!” Genevieve shrieks. Her tired little self has just walked into the room, and boy was she woken up after feeling the wrath of Harry’s wet hair. “You got me wet!”

“I’m sorry kiddo,” he says, lighter now than he’s been since he made a mess of their breakfast.

There’s a knock on their door and Louis goes to answer it, patting his daughter on the head in the spirits of a good morning on his way past her. Harry takes to making Genevieve a bowl of cereal for breakfast, and she’s sitting at the table shoveling in a spoonful of cheerios when Louis comes back into the room.

“That was the complex manager,” Louis sighs. “Said the water heater broke down, but he was a bit late warning us not to use the shower, I guess.”

“I’d say,” Harry grumbles, setting his own bowl of cereal on the table and falling into his seat.

After they finish eating Harry gets Genevieve ready for school while Louis gets himself ready for work, and when they’re finished with their preparations Louis finds the other two in the living room, Genevieve on Harry’s lap and the television blaring in front of them.

“Ready to go?” Louis asks Genevieve, and she hops off Harry and runs to the door to put on her jacket. Harry gets up and makes his way across the room to Louis, giving him a kiss goodbye. “I’ve only got a half an hour, but do you want to meet me for lunch?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry smiles and with that, Louis gives him a quick kiss and leaves to drop off Genevieve and get to work.

As the morning passes, Harry finds himself eager to search the shops for flowers for Louis. This is especially important, considering his Valentine’s Day breakfast didn’t exactly go off with a bang. Though the cheerios were nothing to complain about; no one can deny a bowl of cereal. 

He ends up taking the tube downtown, as there’s a little flower shop on the corner of Third St. that Harry absolutely adores full of soft yellows, whites, and pinks and every flower imaginable. When he walks through the door, however, he finds it’s a frenzy in there. It’s Valentine’s Day, so of course everyone is rushing to buy last minute flowers, cards and gifts for their loved ones. Harry taps on the shoulder of an employee, hoping to find some guidance toward tulips, perhaps? Yes, he’s pretty sure tulips are Louis’ favourite. He gets snapped at by the worker, who is apparently far too busy clipping stems to give him any help. Instead he waltzes through the aisles of flowers (it’s a little less of a waltz and a little more of a weave through the excited customers), passing by the daises, chrysanthemums, and a couple of marigolds, until he finds the set of shelves labeled tulips.

Well, it’s labeled as the home of the tulips, but of course, he isn’t seeing any. Oh, this is just the cherry on top of a perfect day, isn’t it?

“Excuse me,” he says to an apron clad woman passing by in a hurry.

“How can I help you?” She asks, barely turning on her feet to face him.

“Do you know where I can find a bouquet of tulips, by any chance?”

“Right on that rack behind you,” she says, before looking to see its bare shelves. “Hmm. We must be out. There should be a new shipment in tomorrow.”

“Aren’t there any out back?” Harry tries, though he’s got no hope left anyhow. He sighs.

“All our stock is out here, sorry kid,” she says before fleeting back to whatever it was she was doing before, tossing a “Happy Valentine’s Day!” over her shoulder.

Yeah, Happy Valentine’s Day, Harry thinks. “Happy Valentine’s Day my ass,” he mutters under his breath, stopping at the front to pick up a dozen roses near the till. He sets them on the counter, fishing his wallet from his back pocket.

“Excuse me, sir?” The cashier asks, pulling his attention. Harry shakes his head softly before acknowledging her voice. “I asked if you wanted them wrapped in pink paper, or white?”

“Oh. White is good, please.”

And with that he hands her the money and grabs his red roses that are wrapped vigilantly in white tissue paper, and takes his exit from the store with a sigh. All Harry wants at this point is for this damn day to be over. He checks his watch and figures he’s got about a half an hour until Louis’ lunch break, which is all the time he’ll need to walk over to the center. So, with his bouquet in hand, he makes his walk, tucking his free hand in his pocket to protect his fingers from the cold February day.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Harry mumbles before giving Louis a kiss and handing him the garnet flowers. “They’re not tulips, but.”

“They’re perfect, Harry. You didn’t have to get me anything,” Louis says, smelling the bundle he’s got in his hands.

“Shut up,” Harry smiles, meeting him in the middle for one more kiss. “Where are we off to for lunch?”

They end up heading to the deli together, walking into the dry air of the small sandwich shop. Louis orders his lunch first, Harry coming up second, and when they’re food is placed on a tray for them they take it and head for a small table near the back. They spend a handful of minutes eating their sandwiches and sipping fountain soda from their cups before throwing away their trash and heading back out to the car.

It isn’t until it’s decided that Louis is going to give Harry a ride back home and they’ve actually gotten inside the vehicle, that they notice the slip of paper on the windshield, tucked beneath the wiper. Louis looks puzzled, but he gets out and grabs the paper, his eyes skimming it over before popping open wide.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Louis deadpans as he slides back into his seat, the paper still in his hands. “I got a parking ticket, are you serious?”

“Let me see,” Harry says, his brows furrowing together. He grabs the ticket from Louis’ hand and reads it over himself before laughing maniacally out loud. “This is just perfect. This is too good.”

“Are you okay?” Louis side eyes Harry, who is still laughing, and looks as though he’s forgotten to breathe.

“No,” he hiccups. “No, I’m not okay. I didn’t think another thing could possibly go wrong today, but—but then this! And now I can’t stop laughing,” he chokes out between bursts of hysteria. “This is great!”

“Let me get you home, and then I’ll deal with this—” Louis says, taking the ticket back from Harry, who’s apparently flipped his lid, “after work.” When he pulls up to their complex, Harry slides out of his seat, but he keeps himself bent to peek in through the car door at Louis, who’s cleared his voice. “Maybe you should get some rest, yeah? Take a nap or something, you’re freaking me out a bit.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry sighs, having stopped laughing now.

“Zayn’s picking Genevieve up from school this afternoon,” Louis says. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Love you,” Harry smiles softly before closing the door and heading inside. He doesn’t bother kicking off his shoes when he walks through their front door. He just falls to the couch, clad in all his outerwear, and throws a pillow over his face to block out the sun creeping in through the windows, and falls asleep. 

“We have a bit of a situation,” Zayn says as he brings Genevieve inside. He shakes Harry, who’s still resting on the couch, until he sits up. Genevieve is hiding behind Zayn’s legs, barely letting herself peek out from behind him to see Harry. “I know either you or Louis is going to kill me, and if I’m honest, I’d prefer it be you. You don’t really have it in you to make it painful, right? Just uh, get it over with, if you can.”

“Zayn,” Harry says warily. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” He says, throwing his arms up in defence. “Nothing intentional, or um, directly.” Harry stands up, his brows creasing together in concern. “And I tried to fix it myself, okay, as best as I could.”

“Zayn, please,” says Harry. “Just explain.”

“Right, um. So I gave Genevieve some gum, on the way home from school, right? And I’m not even sure how it happened, if I’m honest. But when we got out of the car it was, um, in her hair,” he sighs.

“This is all over gum in her hair?” Harry shakes his head and reaches out for Genevieve, who’s still standing behind her uncle for all intents and purposes, holding onto the bottom of his leather jacket between her small fingers.

“It’s a lot, okay, and it’s sticky. Andyou’regoingtohavetocutitout.” Zayn says the words so soft and so fast that they all blend together.

“What?” Harry asks.

“It has to be cut out,” he repeats, letting out a held breath.

“Let me see,” Harry says, moving Zayn aside and scooping up the young girl before bringing her to the bathroom and setting her up on the countertop. Zayn’s standing in the doorway as Harry stands over her, sifting her hair through his fingers. There’s a sizable wad of bubblegum stuck within a clump of her hair, strings unkempt and knotted, coated with the sticky candy. Every time Harry tries to pull it out, the gum just expands and ends up getting more hair caught in it. “Fuck, Louis is going to kill you.”

“Please, just do it before he gets home,” Zayn begs.

“Are you going to cut my hair?” Genevieve whimpers, pulling at the long end of her not-sticky hair. She likes it long, the way it twists down her back, reaching almost down to her waist now. She likes how long it is when her dad braids it for her, and she likes the way it frames her face before draping down. Genevieve has seen a picture of her mother once, and she’s never told her father this, but she loves the way this one piece of herself resembles the woman who gave birth to her. She loves the way her long curls make her look like her mum.

“Not yet,” Harry says, trying to sound a little optimistic. “We’ll just wait for your dad to get home, yeah?” She nods, a bit unsure, and then Harry turns to Zayn. “You might want to get out of here; y’know, make the best of what’s left of your life.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs and places a kiss on Genevieve’s forehead and leaves for home.

When Louis walks in the door at ten after five, he lets out a long sigh. “Well, my bank account is about sixty pounds emptier,” he grumbles.

“You took care of the ticket?” Harry asks, walking up and grabbing onto the lapel of Louis’ jacket. His fingers smooth over the material as he pulls his boyfriend in, meeting his lips for a moment with a welcoming kiss. Louis nods, his lips shifting over Harry’s with the small movement. “Good, because there’s something else you’re going to have to deal with now.”

“Please don’t say it’s something bad, because I don’t know how much more I’m capable of handling,” Louis drones. Harry shifts his glance side to side, letting Louis know that it’s not exactly good by averting his eyes. “Alright, lay it on me.”

“Genevieve might have gotten some gum in her hair,” he explains nonchalantly. “And it might have to be cut out entirely. But I didn’t want to go ahead with it without you here, so.”

“Baby, come here,” Louis calls out to wherever his daughter is. “Let me see the damage.”

She comes shuffling into the hallway and Louis slumps when he sees the clump of hair wadded and stuck together. He tries to finger over it and get as much out as he can, but it still has to be cut; there’s no way to get it all out otherwise.

“Alright, give me the scissors,” he says. Genevieve’s face is panic stricken, so, so frightened at the idea of cutting her hair. “No, no worries, okay munchkin? I’m not cutting it all, I promise, got it down to just a bit.”

“Are you sure?” She asks, and receives a nods. “Will I look stupid?”

“You won’t look stupid,” Louis tells her. “You could never look stupid, regardless.”

“Okay,” she frowns, and Louis manages to snip out as little as he has to in order to get the sugary treat out of her hair. When he’s done he combs it out, and it’s not like it was right in the front, anyway. And it was just a little bit, so it’s really not that bad.

“All done,” he says, patting her head. “Want me to braid it back?” And when she nods gently, he does just so, and they all find it’s a bit less noticeable that way. “Give it time, it’ll grow back out.”

And she skips away, content with giving it as much time as it needs. Louis then blows out a huff of air, his fringe flying off his forehead for a moment, and he rubs his eyes, feeling the stress of the day weighing down on his skin. He wishes he could shower, but alas, he isn’t particularly looking for an ice bath. Instead he settles for changing into more comfortable clothes than the snooty tucked in shirt he has to wear for work, and he splashes some of that expectedly cold water on his face, reviving himself of the energy he’d spent.

“Forgot about this,” Louis says, walking into the kitchen where he finds Harry at the table, his eyes skimming over the newspaper. He slides a box of chocolates across the table to him, and Harry smirks delightedly at the red heart shaped encasing. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

“You know,” Harry says, a hint of amusement to his voice. He pulls the lid off the box and plucks the best looking piece of chocolate from it and takes a bite, offering the other half of the rich sweet to Louis. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper Valentine before.”

“Don’t get cheesy on me,” Louis blushes.

“I just fed you a piece of chocolate shared between us. You’re worried about me saying something cheesy?” Harry mocks.

“Good point,” Louis agrees. “I’m delighted to be your first Valentine, anyhow.”

“Does my Valentine want to take care of dinner?” Harry asks hopefully, to which Louis says he will, and gets up to set a pot of pasta water on the stove to boil.

Louis’ not sure how the next mishap actually happens, but he’s sure one thing lead to another and somehow things managed to get even worse. All he remembers is falling into the couch and folding himself into the corner, his body silently begging for comfort, and Genevieve’s cartoons were on far louder than necessary. The next thing he remembers is zoning back into reality, and Harry is freaking out in the kitchen.

“What? What happened?” He asks, finding Harry pouring what looks to be what’s left in the pot into the sink. It’s the way the air smells aged and overcooked that reminds Louis all about the boiling water he’d left unattended on the stove.

“I can’t believe you managed to burn water,” Harry snorts, flipping the pot so Louis could see the brown stains left in a ring on the surface of it before setting it in the sink to be washed.

“Of fucking course,” Louis snaps.

“This one takes the cake, I think.”

“Let’s just order pizza and go to bed,” Louis grumbles. “Can’t wait for this day to be over with.”

Harry seconds this and dials up the pizza shop a few blocks over, putting in their regular order, which should be ready in about twenty minutes. He tells Louis he’ll run to get it, so he leaves him with a kiss at the door and comes back a couple minutes later with the steaming boxes in-hand. The three of them gather around the kitchen table and have dinner, sitting in the warmth of each other’s company, trying to make what’s left of the day enjoyable. When they’re done they clean up their plates and decide to curl up on the couch together and watch some Valentine’s Day tv specials, the three of them all under a blanket on this chilly February evening.

When it’s time to get Genevieve to bed they pull the sheets up to tuck her in, and it’s decided that tonight they’re going to read Walt Whitman’s Tests, so Louis and Harry take their places comfortably in the little girl’s bedroom. Louis sits with his knees to his chest, the book perched atop, and his eyes skim the page before he begins.

“All submit to them where they sit, inner, secure, unapproachable to analysis in the soul,

Not traditions, not the outer authorities are the judges,

They are the judges of outer authorities and all traditions,

They corroborate as they go only whatever corroborates themselves, and touches themselves;

For all that, they have it forever in themselves to corroborate far and near without one exception.”

“Sleep tight, munchkin,” Louis whispers against Genevieve’s forehead as he kisses her goodnight, Harry doing the same before they shuffle out of the room, the door shut softly behind them. “Want a tea?” Louis asks Harry as he makes his way to the kitchen to make a cuppa for himself.

“Please,” Harry smiles, and so Louis pulls two porcelain mugs from the kitchen cupboard, desperate to have his drink before making a bedtime departure of his own. 

He pulls out the jar of cinnamon sticks from the second shelf, knowing that Harry enjoys a twist to his tea every so often, so he sticks the russet spice stick in his mug before dropping a tea bag from the tin into each of them. He fills the kettle and plugs it in, as he doesn’t have the time or patience to boil it on the stove, and he watches as it begins to heat up the water, waiting for the whistle all the while.

He lets out a laugh, almost as hysterically as Harry’s was earlier that afternoon, when a zapping noise comes from the receptacle before a spark flies out and all the lights go out. The flat becomes strikingly silent, save for Louis’ maniacal cackles, and the buzzing of the light bulbs failing to work can be heard overhead.

“Lou?” Harry asks, lighting up a flashlight on his phone to guide himself over to the kitchen.

“This is great,” Louis laughs. “I think I blew the circuit!”

“We use that kettle how many times a year, and today of all days is the one time this happens?” Harry asks, baffled. There’s no way this is actually happening. Someone’s got to be playing a joke on them at this point. In fact, Harry’s waiting for Ashton Kutcher to come out of nowhere and tell them they’ve been punked, because this is actually ridiculous.

“I’m pretty sure Lemony Snicket wrote a series about us once,” Louis manages to get out before shaking his head in disbelief. Was today even real? There’s no way.

“We should find some candles,” Harry suggests, managing to keep his calm, as he had his bit of a breakdown earlier in the day. “I don’t know how to fix this, and it’s too late to call an electrician now, so, uh, guess we’ll have to deal with it in the morning?”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, though he’s still smiling. Louis decides he’s just going to light a candle, find his way to his bedroom, and crawl into bed where no more bad things can happen to him. Harry’s thinking on a rather similar wavelength.

By the time they’ve managed to find a couple of candles (literally a couple. apparently they only own like, two. and they’re both Harry’s), Louis is exhausted by both the day and the searching, squinting in the dark. They keep a lighter in a drawer in the kitchen, and it isn’t long before they’ve each got a candle lit that they carry over to the bedroom. The flame flickers in the dark, casting shadows on their faces, and the smell of the melting wax wafts through the room.

Under the blankets, Harry’s bare arm beneath the hem of his sleeve brushes against Louis’, and both of them quietly and to themselves remember that despite everything that’s happened, today is supposed to be filled with love, romance, and kindness. Louis thinks about the flowers housed in a vase that he left on his desk at work all day, smiling warmly at anyone who commented on them as they passed by. While Louis recalls the “my boyfriend got them for me”s, Harry thinks of the kisses they’d shared throughout the day, the fond touches and thoughtful actions. He thinks about the chocolates in their little heart shaped box that’s sitting on the kitchen counter right now, and he thinks about how Louis is sweeter than even the rich treats. They think of each other, and the warm glow they give off along with the fuzzy feeling they give each other every day.

Harry slides a palm down Louis’ arm until he reaches his wrist, and he wraps his fingers around it, feeling Louis’ pulse jump up to meet his hand. Louis’ fingers reach and twist around the material at their side, hiking up Harry’s shirt by probably only a fraction of an inch. 

With his wrist still locked in Harry’s gentle embrace, Louis rolls over so he’s on top of Harry, his hips just hovering at Harry’s groin. He pulls Harry’s shirt up a bit more now as he meets Harry’s lips with a delicious friction, slick with desire. He bunches up the material as he pulls the shirt farther up and takes it right off Harry’s back. He breaks from his lips, but he lets himself wander over Harry’s skin as though it were a magnetic field and he were part of the charge. He’s mapped out every facet of Harry before, so it’s not like he’s exploring unknown grounds, but he likes the feel of tracing over the familiar paths of Harry’s skin.

He makes his way down the column of Harry’s throat, stopping at the base to suck a bruise into the dip between his collarbones. The way Louis’ lips glide over his skin makes Harry feel warm, but when he stops to suck love bites, and his teeth nip at the alabaster of his chest, it makes Harry feel hot, hot, hot, and he can’t help it when his body lurches up into Louis, making himself congruent to every curve in the older boy’s frame.

Louis’ lips leave a sense of pressure in their wake, and Harry wishes to be kissed in all those spots again, and every other square inch of his skin. Louis however doesn’t feed into Harry’s needs, the ones that draw guttural sounds from the back of his throat, because he knows his boy well and he knows what exactly to do to get his cock flush with his belly, and there are more things that Louis could keep himself busy doing to cater to what Harry likes than retracing the wet trails he’s left behind.

His tongue laps under the waistband of Harry’s boxers, but they don’t pry for long, teasing at the warm skin under the thin material. Louis lets himself wander eastward to just below the might as well… tattoo, over the ridge of Harry’s pelvic bone, sucking where it protrudes slightly and licking into the divot. As Louis’ mouth works into the hard edges of Harry’s body, his hips thrash, the sheets crumpling beneath him. 

After he’s left the skin raw and sizeably bruised, Louis begins pressing kisses into the soft part of Harry’s belly, just below his navel. As he guides himself downward he lets his nose stray over the fabric, the feather light touch causing Harry to twitch with pleasure where he’s sprawled out on the mattress beneath Louis, who’s shimmied further down bed, resting between Harry’s opened legs. Louis feels the bulge in Harry’s boxers brush against his cheek, and he kisses the crevice where his constrained erection meets his groin.

His mouth moves to its own accord, outlining the fullness of Harry’s cock with his lips. As he ghosts over him, Louis lets his hot breath weave through the fabric of Harry’s underwear, its warmth reaching all his sensitive parts that crave to be touched.

“Please, Louis,” Harry begs, his voice coming out rough, overworked beneath his panting.

Louis takes him into his mouth, feeling the bit of precum that moistens Harry’s flannel boxers. Harry can’t help but buck his hips up, pushing himself farther into Louis’ mouth as his hands find Louis’ hair, knotting his fingers in the sandy brown tufts and pulling at the roots. Louis tongue presses to the underside of Harry’s erection, and when he swallows around the cloth covered bulge, Harry just about loses it.

“louislouislouis,” he breathes, feeling his heartbeat thrum heavily in his chest.

Louis’ brings his thumb up to rub softly over the noticeable head of Harry’s cock before reaching for waistband of the boxers to pull them down. His fingernails scratch into Harry’s underwear line as he bunches up the elastic at his hips, and Louis’ heavy breathing of his own ghosts hot over Harry’s crotch again, and Harry’s back arches upward as blinding pleasure pulses through him.

“Oh! Fuck, oh,” Harry lets out, his pupils dilated and his shoulder blades digging further into the mattress. He rolls his hips around once more before thrusting upward into the close proximity of Louis’ mouth. When he falls slack against the bed, his breathing laboured and his lips bitten, Louis sits back with his eyebrows cocked.

“And to top the night off…” Harry mutters, covering his face with his hands.

“Did you just…?” Louis asks, fighting back a giggle.

“Yes, Louis. Yes, I just came in my shorts.”

“Oh my god,” Louis cackles. “Harry—”

“Don’t,” Harry warns. “Don’t talk about it. Don’t even think about it.”

“Nope, no way. You’re never living this down, I’ll be reminding you of this when we’re old and flaccid and you’ll be wishing you could still get off before we’ve even had sex.”

“I hate you,” Harry says with a hmph, peeling his palms off his flushed face to cross them over my chest.

“Marry me,” Louis mumbles.

The words jumped right out of Louis’ mouth before he could swallow them down. He’s an idiot, if anything. This is—this is the opposite of romantic! This is not what he was planning! He was supposed to get down on one knee and be suave and maybe a little cheeky, not crouched between Harry’s legs, with messed up bed sheets and boxer shorts full of spunk.

“What?” Harry asks, his whole face softened; not even a shred of embarrassment left upon his perfect features. He bites down on the corner of his lip, visibly torn between kissing Louis and asking him if he meant it.

“Wait,” Louis says, his thoughts whirling around his mind a million miles an hour. He sees Harry’s face in the flickering candle light, and he notices the way it falls, disappointed, or sad, even, before he masks it from Louis. “I wasn’t supposed to say that—I—”

“Louis, it’s okay,” Harry murmurs softly, the hurt still laced in with his voice.

“No, I mean—I was, but—but not like that, I mean,” Louis gathers himself in the sheets and jumps off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay…?” Harry says, bewildered and probably more confused than he should be.

The second Louis leaves the bedroom he regrets not bringing a candle with him to find his way through the flat without bumping into literally every fucking thing, but of course he didn’t, so he does. His hands feel across the walls until he navigates the closet, and he searches the coatrack for the feel of his jacket, pushing past the zipper and grabbing the little black leather bound box from the inner pocket, and he turns to make his way through the dark back to the bedroom. He’s welcomed back in by the soft glow of the candles, and Harry perched up on the bed.

“Harry,” Louis says, his voice wavering; nervous. He begins to get down on one knee, but he just feels so awkward, like he’s fucked this up to no return, so he straightens himself back up and clears his throat. “Harry,” he says again, but his voice gets caught in his throat at the pause, and he’s unable to find the words he’d formulated so perfectly in preparation.

Harry nods quickly, urging Louis to go on.

“I’m not going to lie to you, I had this all planned out—the speech, the gesture, the whole bit,” Louis admits. “But to hell with it, okay, because today is something else entirely. In light of today, just make do.”

“Yes, yes, okay, that’s fine, just—”

“Today was probably the worst day of my life,” Louis says truthfully. “But if there was anything that made it tolerable, it was you being by my side. I’ve known for a long time now that I want you here with me on all the good days, but I now know that I need you here for all the bad ones too. And I guess what I’m trying to say is, um, I would be perfectly happy if every single day of the rest of my life were just as bad as this one, so long as I get to spend them with you.”

Harry’s choked up, his legs hanging off the side of the bed, ready to jump up and just kiss him already, but he waits, bunching the sheets up anxiously in his hands. His eyes are kind of watery, but he hopes it’s not noticeable in the dim light, and he swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Harry?” Louis asks. Now, Harry knows Louis, every single part of him, he might say. But one side of Louis that Harry doesn’t get to see often is his vulnerable side. Louis’ voice is wracked with vulnerability, but the only thing that stands out from the wary of it is the sincerity that’s in there too. 

“Yes?”

Louis swallows thickly as he opens up the black box, revealing to Harry the ring that he’s already seen before—not that Louis knows anything about that. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, Louis. Yes, yes,” Harry answers quickly, not even giving it a second’s thought. He’d have kept saying yes over, and over, and over, if he could, but his words are muffled as he wraps his arms around Louis and breaths into his neck. He finds Louis’ lips and is silenced entirely, apart from the sound of sloppy, frantic kisses. “I love you. So much, Louis.”

“God, I love you too,” Louis pants, the taste of Harry on his tongue. 

Harry pulls him even closer against himself, “Were you planning on proposing to me today? On Valentine’s Day of all days?”

“What was I thinking?” Louis scoffs, reaching behind them and pulling his cellphone off the table, flashing the time in Harry’s face. “Look at that, it’s precisely seven minutes past midnight. It’s no longer the day of Saint Valentine.” He retracts his arms from around Harry’s large frame and pulls the ring from the box. “Can I?”

“Please,” Harry says, holding out his left hand so Louis can slide the ring onto his fourth finger. The flickering candlelight glints off the three small diamonds embedded into the gold circumference, and he likes the way the sparkle dances in its reflect.

It’s a perfect fit, just like Harry is to their little family; the one he gets to be with forever.

 

 

❖

 

 

A week goes by and Louis finds he’s spent the last handful of days having to pry Harry off the phone as the days age and it gets late. At one point he grabs the phone right from Harry’s hand and says “Sorry Gemma, but I want my fiancé back!” before hanging up and shoving the thing into the back pocket of his jeans. Louis’ pretty sure that if it weren’t midnight on the day he proposed, Harry would’ve called her right then and there, gushing to her about how much he loves Louis, and started his excitement about wedding plans without a second to spare. But, it was midnight, so he’d started bright and early the next morning, calling his mum and telling Anne all about it before dialling up his sister, who is just as if not even more excited about the two of them getting married than they are.

“Come on, babe,” Louis nags, sitting curled up on Harry’s lap on the couch, pulling at his sleeves to further show his impatience. It’s half past ten and Louis just wants to curl up with his boy and go to bed—sex being put on a backburner at this point, because yeah they’ve only had sex like once this week, but even more than to be with him in that sense Louis just wants to spend some quality time with him.

“Should one of us wear a white tux?” Harry asks, simply relaying the question from his sister.

“White tuxes are tacky,” Louis says, scrunching up his nose.

“Black on black it is then,” Harry grins, smoothing out the crinkles in Louis’ expression with a kiss. Louis pulls on his shirt some more, eager to get him off the phone and into bed. “Okay Gem, I’ve gotta go. Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah, love you too,” Harry says into the receiver before putting his phone away.

“I miss you,” Louis whispers, nuzzling himself into Harry’s chest.

“I’m right here, Lou,” Harry says, placing the softest of kisses on Louis’ hair.

“You’re really excited about this wedding, huh?”

“The real question is who wouldn’t be excited about marrying you?” Harry monopolizes. He wraps his arms around Louis, twisting the ring around his finger against the curve of Louis’ back. He kisses Louis softly, the taste of him like sugar and cinnamon stirring sweetly through his mouth as Louis’ tongue swipes against Harry’s own, their lips coming to a soft close before parting. “Bedtime, is it?”

“I think so,” Louis nods, pulling himself off of Harry before following through with pulling Harry off of the couch. Their arms swing between the two of them on their short walk to the bedroom, and Louis doesn’t hesitate to pull his shirt off and slide under the covers, waiting for the warmth of Harry to join him. “Can we talk for a bit, love?”

“We’ll talk until we fall asleep,” Harry agrees, nestling in the bed. His legs find Louis’ and their ankles cross beneath the sheets, just like their hands are mingled together between their chests.

“Tell me about these plans you’ve been throwing together, yeah? All I know is we’re both wearing black,” Louis teases, wanting to know every last detail Harry has fussed over with Gemma so far. 

He’s heard bits of their sibling squabble from the one side of the conversation he’s been able to catch here and there, but he’s not sure what’s decided yet, really. He doesn’t mind though, because the wedding will be perfect no matter what, so long is Harry is the one up there at the alter with him. He knows this whole thing has made Harry unbelievably happy, and he just wants to share that with him, because there’s nothing more he’d rather see than the way Harry’s eyes light up when he talks about marrying Louis.

“Well, nothing is official as of yet, of course.” Harry sighs. “But Gem was tossing around our favourite colours for a scheme…how do you feel about red table cloths matched with black napkins and upholstery?”

“I feel that would make for an astonishing décor,” Louis comments.

“And I know you like chocolate cake, but how many tiers do you think?” Harry asks, squeezing his hands just a little tighter around Louis’.

“You like vanilla though, so how about two tiers? One of each?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Harry says softly before letting out a great big yawn. It’s silently decided upon that it’s time to get some sleep, so Harry snuggles in closer to Louis, pressing his cheek up against Louis’ bare shoulder, his arms wrapped around his middle. The two of them are both half asleep, and Harry’s voice is incredibly small when he squeaks out, “Lou?”

Louis manages to pull a sound from the back of his throat. “Mmm?”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“I don’t want to wait either.”

And it’s decided. They won’t.

 

 

❖

 

 

Once they take into consideration exactly who their closest friends and family are, Louis and Harry really should have expected something like this. It’s not like any of them to let something so big, so great for these two cherished boys to go over without something of the sort, really. It was a busy evening for the two of them; one that their loved ones wasted no time over carefully concocting behind their busyness. 

Louis had a meeting after work, one that he had to cut short (apologetically, of course) because Genevieve had an early spring recital at school with the rest of her nursery class. He was given a promotion, one of which he was grateful for and ecstatic about, but he skipped the celebratory drink with his boss in order to run and meet up with Harry at the school auditorium, where together they watched Genevieve perform the nursery rhymes they’d learned as a class. After the show they’d picked her up backstage, greeted her teacher with a warm smile, and made way to the car as to get back home.

What they didn’t know was that all the while Gemma had made some phone calls to Niall and a certain friend of Louis’, who goes by the name of Zayn, and while the three of them were out and about for a couple of hours that evening they’d gotten together, decorated the entire flat from head to toe, had their families drive up to Manchester and had an entire celebration planned perfectly to a tee.

They did find out, of course, when they’d strolled in through the door to streamers hanging overhead and a bottle of champagne popping, the lid flying off behind Zayn who held the wildly fizzy bottle in his hand, letting the foam flow down the neck of the bottle and onto the floor at his feet.

“What is this!” Louis gasps, seeing everyone he loves and misses all around them in their home. It’s supposed to come out as a question, but under the circumstances it really doesn’t surprise anyone that it doesn’t.

“We couldn’t not celebrate this,” Niall grins, holding out two champagne flutes for Zayn to fill before handing them off respectively to Harry and Louis.

“Congratulations boys,” Anne says, giving both of them a hug, right where they are stuffed in the foyer. “Love you both.”

“Me next,” Jay says, coming in to place a kiss on each of their cheeks as she wraps an arm around each of them. “I’m happy for you, but Harry, why didn’t you introduce me to this mother of yours sooner?” He laughs, thanking both of their mothers, and then they all decide it’s time to move out of the doorway, so they shuffle over to the living room where it’s more comfortable for everyone. 

The boys shower Niall, Gemma and Zayn with thanks for throwing this together, because it truly is an evening to remember. All of Louis’ sister are there, each finding their way over one at a time to see their brother that they don’t go a day without missing, while also more than eager to see the familiar boy who’s made him so happy, so sure, so secure.

“It’s only been a few months, how did you grow so fast?” Harry exasperates, giving Daisy a hug before Phoebe steps up.

“I dunno,” she shrugs, giggling at him.

“Everyone’s pretending to be so surprised,” Lottie says as she makes her way over to them. “But I called this, I really did. We started a bet when you left after Christmas, actually, you should see how full the pot is by now. What took you so long? I had my money on New Year’s.”

“Guess I was waiting for the right time,” Louis shrugs, his hand wandering west in search for Harry. He places a hand on his hip and pulls him in closer to his side and takes a sip out of his glass. “Apparently I’m not a good judge of so-called good timing.”

“It was perfect timing,” Harry chimes, leaning in to press a kiss on the very corner of Louis’ lips. He might have missed his mouth, but he still felt the burst of lingering champagne bubbles on his lips.

“Yeah, okay,” Lottie pretends to gag. “I’m just going to go over there. There’s a lineup of people behind me that you can gross out.”

“I saw the bottle floating around here somewhere, I think I’m gonna grab another drink,” Harry says, excusing himself for a moment. Louis’ side feels cold without Harry attached to it, but he thinks about the fact that they’ve got the rest of their lives to warm each other with their company, and he can handle a few minutes on his own while Harry looks around.

“Louis, Louis, Louis,” Gemma greets as she comes back over for at least the tenth time. “Listen, I’m probably driving you mad with these wedding plans, but you’ve got no idea how excited I am.”

“I’ve got somewhat of an idea,” Louis laughs, looking around at the extraordinarily decorated room. This is just an engagement party of sorts; Louis can’t fathom what she’s got planned for the wedding. “If it’s anything like this it’ll be beyond a dream.”

“The works involve a few less streamers and a few more flowers,” she says. “But really, Louis, I consider you a brother to me now, and I’m so glad that you and this little angel of yours is a part of our family.”

“That means a lot Gemma,” Louis gushes, giving her a soft embrace. “Thank you, really.”

“Not necessary,” she winks. “I’m gonna go find Genevieve, she promised to show me that purple bedroom of hers.”

“Good luck finding her,” Louis jokes. Once she’s off he’s standing alone, so he spins around, almost literally bumping into Harry’s mother. “Sorry Anne!”

“Don’t worry about it,” she waves a hand to brush it off. “It’s been really nice meeting your family, Louis.”

“They’re somethin’, I guess,” he teases.

“No really, your sisters are absolutely lovely. Felicite looks a lot like you,” she says. “And your parents are absolutely wonderful; remind me to thank them for raising such a sweet boy.”

Louis is undeniably bashful, he can feel his cheeks heat up with blush. “I suppose I should thank you for the same, then?”

“Harry’s always been special, really,” Anne begins, exerting herself into a conversation she’s been waiting to have with the man her son couldn’t be happier to be with since, well, Christmas. “But it’s different now. It’s a different kind of special, I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Harry left Holmes Chapel for the first time he was eighteen and he was going to uni in Bristol. It was a nice school, and a safe place for my son to be, and I wasn’t all that worried about him. Harry’s always had a peculiar sense of right and wrong, and he makes good judgements. Well, for the most part. I began to worry when he called me up a few months into his second year to tell me that he’d dropped out of all his classes. Of course when he began apologizing about all the money spent on his schooling I had to convince him that wasn’t what I was upset about, but what the real problem was is that I wanted him to stick with it, you know?”

Louis nods, half-heartedly worried about where Anne is going with this. 

“Harry has always been the kind of boy who loves and loves to love, and he puts so much of himself into what he’s passionate about. But he also has a tendency to flee when he experiences the other side of the spectrum—he’ll get bored of it all if he doesn’t love it with every fibre of his being, and I hate to see him give up on something that he could be so great at if he just gave it a little time. Now Louis, you’re a parent, so I assure you know where I’m coming from, and if not, then you will.”

“No, um, I do. I understand,” Louis mumbles.

“I was worried that it was just a stage he was going through, where he was being lenient and philosophical; trying to get more out of life than a class can teach you,” she explains. “And he stayed at home for a few months, but then last year he spun up plans out of thin air to move to Manchester, and what was I supposed to say? I will always support my son in whatever it is that he chooses to do, so Gemma and I helped him bring all his stuff over and get the boxes into his flat—the next one over, if I’m correct?”

“Yeah, he made for a stubborn neighbour,” Louis laughs.

“Yes, well, that’s my Harry,” Anne nods.

“That’s our Harry,” Louis corrects, a line of which causes Anne to feel a tear bead up in the corner of her eye.

“Yes, our Harry,” she says. “Well, I wasn’t sure what he was even going to do here in Manchester. We don’t have any relatives here, so he couldn’t have known anyone and I didn’t want him to be miserable and alone. But on the other hand I thought that maybe a few life lessons in adulthood was just what he needed—but never in my wildest dreams did I think he would become to loving, so dedicated, so responsible. That is, until I saw him interact with your daughter over the holidays.”

“He’s incredible when it comes to Genevieve, really.”

“Yes, he really is. And I’ll admit that it frightened me a little bit at the time, because he’s so young—hell, you both are. But I’ve apologized to him for any doubt I had at the time, because like I said, Harry loves to love, and when it does he doesn’t let go without a fight. And I owe so much thanks to you and your lovely daughter for gracing my son in all the ways that another person can.”

“I don’t even want to think about what our little family would be like if Harry weren’t a part of it the way he is now. So really, it’s him that the thanks is owed to, I think.” Louis says lightly and in earnest. 

He’s appreciative of this talk they’ve shared, because he knows Harry what seems like both inside and out—but it’s different when the insight is coming from his mother’s perspective. He gives her a kiss on the cheek just as Gemma pops up and tells him that the two of them should make a speech, you know, something cute and declarative of their love and engagement and all that jazz. 

It’s a room full of family and friends, and outside his close corners into Harry’s life with Anne, Louis can feel the excitement vibe through him now as he becomes a part of the party again, stopped by people on his passing by.

“Give me your glass,” Zayn says, holding out the champagne bottle. He fills it up to the brim, a thin layer of foam floating at the top of the glass. Louis brings the glass to his lips and drinks the whole thing in one shot, the bubbles burning down his throat. He licks his lips and hiccups once before handing his glass back to Zayn.

“Speech time,” he explains. “Hit me again.” 

And so Zayn refills it before topping off his own glass and they call everyone to the living room. It’s a small flat, so people are all squished in and some are in the hallway nearby, eager to listen to the two people they’re here celebrating for. Louis’ eyes scan over the room, but he doesn’t seem to spot Harry.

“Harry? Babe, where are you?” He calls out, standing on his tip-toes to see further into the hallway. “Come and join me up here, yeah?”

Louis is puzzled, and feeling incredibly insecure standing in front of all their family and friends alone for a speech they’re meant to make together. This is an engagement party after all, and last time Louis checked he was only one half of what made up the newly engaged couple?

Genevieve runs up, and Louis didn’t even see her if he’s honest, as he was looking for a drastically taller curly haired boy, but she comes up nonetheless and pulls at the hem of his shirt to get his attention and he bends down to meet her at her level.

She cups a hand around his ear before whispers, “Harry’s upset.”

“Where is he, munchkin?” He asks, his brows cocked in both curiosity and concern.

“He’s in your bedroom, Daddy, and I think he’s crying,” she tells him with a frown. “He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but maybe you can make him feel better.”

Louis stands up, a bit too quickly apparently, as he gets a head rush. He takes a deep breath before looking back at everyone who’s looking at him. “I’ll um—I’ll be right back,” and he’s cutting through people to get to his room just down the hall.

When he gets to the room he pushes the door open and finds all the lights off except the lamp on the bedside table, and Harry sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the bed. His arms are wrapped around his legs that are pulled in so his knees are flush with his chest, and his head is lolled forward so his thick, unkempt hair has fallen to cover his face. This isn’t the worst part though. He looks up to meet eyes with Louis, and he is in fact crying—just a single tear that’s tracked halfway down his cheek.

In his hand in a 4x6 photograph, and Louis can feel his heart skip a beat in both terror and remorse, because he knows exactly what that picture shows. He looks to the nightstand, the top drawer expectedly pulled open, before looking back at Harry. What he’s holding is a picture of the absentee mother of Louis’ young daughter, or less frequently referred to as his ex-fiancé. 

“Oh.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okayyyyyyyy.....chapter three (in its entirety!) should be up as soon as possible, but i'll aim for around a week. chapter four will be a short (ish!) epilogue, and then we're complete. final word count should be just over 100k. 
> 
> your comments/kudos/feedback is greatly appreciated, and i can also be found on [tumblr](http://harryrip.tumblr.com)
> 
> it's been such a journey over the last two years with this story, and i thank all of you for your patience!!! i wouldn't have been able to do this without your feedback and support, thank you all so much!! xxx


	3. our parents had cigarettes, wedding bands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> louis and harry embark on what fatherhood holds for them together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BY SOME MIRACLE i was able to actually finish this today, so the one week's wait isn't necessary!  
> this is the moment we've all been waiting far too long for, so... THANK YOU TO EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!!! PLEASE ENJOY!!!!!!!!

 

 

“Oh.”

Harry doesn’t say anything when the sound slips from Louis’ mouth, he just pulls his sleeves over his hands and scrubs his face, letting the picture slip from his fingertips and fall to the floor.Louis begins to stride into the room, but he stops himself short of a second step, a bit wary of crossing any lines and upsetting Harry any further.

“Are you…okay?” Louis mumbles, his lips tugging downward. 

He shakes his head, because could that question have been any more stupid? He just really doesn’t know what to say. This is his fault and he knows it, as well as hates himself for it. He and Harry are nearing a year together now, and in all that time they’ve spent together not once have they fought. Sure, there’s been a few bouts of anger thrown in there once in a while, there’s bound to be because relationships always have lows in between their highs, but it’s never something of this magnitude, where Harry is curled in on himself, hurt because of Louis.

“Peachy, really,” Harry snaps, because what the hell is Louis expecting him to say? Yeah, he’s fine. It’s nothing. No, this is something that’s been eating away at the corners of Harry’s mind for a while now, and the copious amount of champagne he’s indulged in may have lent a hand in Harry having this breakdown now of all times, but he can’t do it anymore. He can’t go on pretending like he doesn’t know about the picture Louis keeps at his bedside, and he can’t go on pretending like it doesn’t hurt him to know that Louis doesn’t want him to know at all, let alone want him in that entire side of his life, most probably because it still means more to him than it should.

“I’m—I’m sorry Harry, I—” Louis’ voice breaks in his throat, because where does he go from here? How does he fix this? Saying anything at this point will surely upset Harry further, and there’s nothing that Louis doesn’t want any more than that. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You never tell me about her.”

“I’m not about to give you the details of my ex,” Louis defends. Defends what, exactly? He’s not sure. But his voice however, well, his voice is sure that there’s something in his heart worth defending.

“She’s not just your ex, Louis, she’s the mother of your daughter!” Harry shouts at him, throwing the picture in Louis’ direction. It falls short of where Louis is standing at the door, his back pressed up against the closed plank behind him.

“Apparently not by choice,” Louis says, sourly, of course, because she made the decision long ago to flee from the child that needed her.

“That’s what I’m talking about! You’ve got so much hurt and so much hate bottled up inside you over her and you never let me help you relieve you of any of it. I love you, Louis, and because of that there’s one thing that I hate, and that’s being closed off by you.” Harry heaves the truth out all in one breath, his speech quickening as the words roll off his tongue and into the silence of the room around them.

“How long has this been upsetting you, Harry?”

“I thought I felt threatened—perhaps you kept that picture around to remind yourself of a better time…but I know—I realized that what’s really hurting me is that you’re holding onto this piece of seventeen year old you, and that Louis is a Louis that I don’t know, and you’re not exactly rushing to let me help him,” Harry admits. He doesn’t let his eyes stay on Louis, they avert to the floor at his feet and stay there like there’s something that’s caught his attention.

Louis chooses this moment to bend down and pick up the photograph from between them, but he realizes a moment too late that this is a bad idea, as his knees give way and he falls to the floor on all fours. When Harry looks at him his eyes are filled with plea, wanting to be let into the parts of Louis’ life that he’s tried to forget for so long now. 

Louis happens to look back at him with the same expression, his eyes begging Harry to forgive him of this, because he’s never left Harry out of anything that means something to him on purpose, he just doesn’t know if he can bring himself back to a time where the person Louis hates—hates, hates, hates—walked away from a child—their child, her child—and left them abandoned; left Louis, an overwhelmed child himself to raise one of his own. He doesn’t know if he can relive all of that to explain it to Harry, because nobody knows the pain of watching their child, the most precious, loved, and adored part of their life be abandoned by one of the two people who are supposed to love them unconditionally.

He crawls toward Harry then, the two of them still harbouring that layer of desperation over their irises in the dim light of the room. He props himself up against the bed just as Harry has, and he reaches for one of his cold hands sitting in his lap, and it takes two of Louis’ own to encase just one of Harry’ entirely.

“There’s so much of her in Genevieve,” Louis mumbles. “And I see it every damn day. But that’s not the worst part, y’know? The worst part is that one day Genevieve is going to wonder about her mother; she’ll always know what parts of herself she has in common with me, because the world will probably go up in flames before I walk out of her life without a fight, but she’ll want to know about her mother, and even worse, she’ll want to know why she left.”

“I’m so sorry, Louis,” Harry whispers, pulling him into his chest, where Louis talks over the heartbeat he can hear clearly sounding in his ears. When did this become Harry comforting Louis? Louis doesn’t know, but if this is what Harry needs, Louis will give it to him—he’ll give him everything.

“It’s nothing you’ve got to be sorry for, love.”

“Maybe not, but I’m also sorry I’ve got us holed up in the bedroom when everyone’s out there celebrating in our living room,” Harry says, his voice deeper, trying to hide the fact that he was crying. He smooths a hand down his face to scrub away the remaining tear tracks, wiping his nose on his sleeve and sniffling into the fabric. “I’m sorry, this is stupid.”

“Not in the slightest,” Louis murmurs. He pulls himself up on two feet, wiping the imaginary dust off his pants and grabbing Harry’s hands before heaving him up off the floor as well. “It’s my fault.”

“Let’s just—this is, um, it’s whatever—let’s just get back out there,” Harry sighs. He takes a moment to ruffle his messy hair and brush his fringe out of his face. 

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, because seeing Harry crushed over something at the fault of himself, whether it was intentional or otherwise, caused an inconsolable grief in his chest, and a corresponding pain to twist around in his gut. 

“Yeah, positive. We can just—” Harry lets out an exercised breath, feeling one hundred percent foolish. He blushes crimson, the heat soaking up what little was left wet on the round of his cheeks, and he grabs Louis’ hand, leading him toward the door with a shake of his head. “We’ll deal with it in the morning or something.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis nods, and they head back out to the living room to make their awaited engagement speech, hand-in-hand, Harry gulping down what managed to stir up inside of him earlier, and he lets Louis do all the talking.

 

 

❖

 

 

Oh god, is the first thing that comes to Louis’ mind when he wakes up the next morning. His thoughts continue to bounce off the walls of his head, unable to find his voice in the back of his throat.

“Are you awake?” Harry murmurs against Louis’ skin, lips pressed into his shoulder blade, lanky arm wrapped around his chest. Louis shakes his head no, and okay, it might be a white lie or whatever you wanna call it, but he wishes it were true. He wishes he was still asleep, and even though the idea is just as preposterous as it is utopic, he wishes he could just sleep forever.

“Bad dream,” Louis croaks. “Need to sleep off bad dream.”

Harry kisses a freckle on his back, between the knobs of his spine. Louis’ only problem now is that he’s awake; he can smell the sweat and champagne that has ghosted off of his pores and worn into the weave of his pillow, he can feel his hair sticking up every which way and tickling the back of his neck, and he can certainly feel himself melting at the contact between Harry’s lips and his skin.

“What kind of bad dream?” Harry asks, letting his fingertip run over the ridge of Louis’ ribcage.

“The kind where you were mad at me,” he harrumphs. He makes a mental note not to drink champagne anymore, well, at least not such an outrageous quantity. 

Louis can hear the cogs working in Harry’s head, he’s thinking so loud he might as well be screaming. He turns around, his cheek pressed against a cooler part of his pillow (and god, it smells like hangover and needs to be washed), his body still encased in Harry’s arms. There’s a little wrinkle between Harry’s brows that have been drawn together, and his tongue is pressed against his teeth, threatening to spill out everything he’s not sure he should say.

“It wasn’t a dream, was it?” Of course it was a rhetorical question. Upon what circumstances would he have asked that if he didn’t already know the answer? It’s not like he was looking to get himself into any more trouble.

Harry nods.

Louis nods.

“Okay, well,” Louis sighs. His hands lift a little to their own accord before falling back onto the bed in a defeated kind of way. “Are you still upset?”

Harry shrugs.

Louis nods.

“I’m going to go take a shower and use a whole goddamn bottle of mouthwash,” he says, his mind and efforts officially caught up with his defeated self. There’s not much more he can do in this very moment, so he kisses Harry’s forehead, gets up out of bed, and drags himself all the way to the bathroom clad only in his boxers.

He pulls a towel from the rack and turns on the tap, letting his hand run under the water while it takes a moment to heat up. The bathroom door clicks open as Harry slips into the room behind him, placing his hands on Louis’ hips where he’s bent over the tub.

“We met when we were fifteen,” Louis murmurs so soft he isn’t sure Harry even heard him over the running water. He adjusts the shower head, and says, “dated for two and a half years,” as he lets Harry tug his shorts to the ground, kicking them to the side and stepping under the spray of the water.

He waits until Harry joins him in the shower, drops of water sliding down the flat planes of his torso. Louis wants to let his hands slip down Harry’s body like that, leaving his fingerprints superimposed in the shower drizzle. He wants to, but he doesn’t. “You don’t have to talk about this right now, if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to; not now, and probably not ever, if I’m honest. But it’s important to you, so it’s important to me that I do so, Harry, because if I keep putting this off then next time won’t just be a missing fiancé during our speech, I’ll be left without a husband at the altar,” Louis manages to get it all out in one breath, a regurgitation of his thoughts, kind of like the vomit that wants out of his gut. The best way to push it down, he supposes, is to carry on. “We were sixteen when we found out she was pregnant, and that—um, that really sort of sucked.”

“I thought it was every seventeen year old kid’s dream to have a baby?” Harry jokes, trying to show Louis that yeah, he’s upset, but things are manageable. Fixable. He’s not going to run off on them any time soon, so he’d really like to see Louis’ hands stop shaking at his side.

“Apparently that’s not the case. Or so I found out,” Louis says lightly. Harry grabs the bar of soap, smoothing it between his hands until he’s got a pile of bubbles to lather Louis’ skin with. “It was so different then. Like, looking back now, it may be hard to believe, but I was petrified. I was on the very edge of a panic attack. I was freaking out, I mean, there was a fucking baby growing, literally growing in her belly, and she’s explaining everything to me and all I’m picturing is a cell that multiplies in to two, and then four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, a million!”

“Well, yeah, Lou, that’s how these things go. You too were but a single cell literally growing in a woman’s belly,” Harry laughs.

“I will never forgive my high school biology teacher for traumatizing me with what I definitely didn’t need to know about exponential cell growth,” Louis says. “Anyway, I’m freaking out about this baby is like, growing, and then I’m thinking about how once it’s born it will keep growing? And need guidance and support and all that, when of course, Zayn decides to call me, and why I answered his call in the middle of that I will never know, but he was off his horse because this new video game was about to be released.”

“Shit,” Harry says as the bar of soap flies from his hand onto the bathmat at their feet. “Can you grab that for me?” And so Louis hands him back the bar, which he then uses to clean himself up.

“It was then that I realized that I had to give all that up—spending time with Zayn, video games, footy after school, etc. because there was this little person who needed me. Of course, that sounds like a logical epiphany, harmonious, even. But in reality it just scared the piss out of me. And so I decided that no way could I do this, so I told Zayn I’d meet him in five and I turned from Ruby and started away,” Louis’ eyes fall to the floor of the tub, a certain thickness growing in his throat. “I walked away; whether I meant it at the time or not, I walked away. She was going on about bringing life into the world and all the things I thought at the time to be over-glorified bullshit about babies and families and I couldn’t handle it, so I turned my back on her and my daughter.”

Louis talks a lot. He knows it, Harry knows it, and just about every single one of their neighbours probably knows it as well. It comes with great surprise that Louis doesn’t say anything after that for the rest of their shower. Not when he shampoos Harry’s hair, fingers threading through those adorable curls. Not when his hand wraps around Harry’s cock, stroking soft all the way down until his fingers fondle the head, thumbing over the slit, working the length in his palm. Not even when Louis wraps himself in a towel (as does Harry), and they waddle off, shivering, into the bedroom to dress for the day.

Louis boils some water for tea, filling a couple of mugs before steeping a bag in each and stirring in all the right fixings, his metal spoon clinking around in the porcelain. Harry doesn’t expect him to, but Louis chooses this quiet time over the tinkering of tea making to expound his thoughts into words he doesn’t want to hear aloud, but he braves it and continues to tell Harry everything.

“I realize that was a mistake,” Louis says, but he has to clear his throat and repeat it before it’s audible. “I realize it now, and I realized it then. I got in my car and my hands were shaking so much I couldn’t get the keys in the damn ignition. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a bad father Harry, I never was.”

“I know Louis, I know you’re not,” Harry comforts, pulling Louis into his arms and curling his fingers around his biceps. Louis sniffles back tears and Harry doesn’t let him go. “Nobody knows that better than I do, Lou.”

“So, I went back inside her house, and I just—I put my hand on her belly and I said ‘It’s all gonna be okay, little guy.’ And for some godforsaken reason we thought it would be a good idea to tell her parents about it that night, which, in my shoes, was yet another thing to fear, obviously. But they didn’t get mad, they just acted as if it were a problem with a clear solution. ‘We’ll get that taken care of Ruby,’ ‘There’s no way you’re going through with this, you’re just kids!’ ‘All these ins and outs in the medical world, we can fix this mishap right up.’”

“Louis,” Harry says, smoothing his hand down Louis’ back.

“I’m going to be sick thinking about it,” Louis says. “It’s not even that they didn’t want her, Harry, they didn’t even want her to live.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He’s lived his life before Louis and Genevieve came into it, and of course things would have taken an obviously different route if they hadn’t, but after the last year of his life he doesn’t want to know what it would have been like. He wouldn’t go back and reroute anything he’s done, because whatever he did to lead him to the two people he holds dearest in his heart he considers his best decisions. He doesn’t want to think about a life that doesn’t include the shrilled laughter of his favourite four year old.

“Of course she didn’t…um, go through with it. She told me we’d be okay without them, and I believed her, I really did. I went to every appointment, met every doctor, took care of her every single day. And about seven months into the pregnancy was when I asked her to marry me. I assume you saw the ring, which, boy am I kicking myself in the ass for now,” Louis rolls his eyes at himself. Harry nods, because of course he fucking saw the ring you idiot. “Her parents weren’t exactly supportive of her going through with the baby, so she was living with me at my parents’ house at the time, and it just felt like, y’know, something I should do.”

“Did you really want to marry her, Louis?” Harry asks, though he wishes he could’ve bottled up that question with all the other ones he’d never wanted to regret letting slip through his lips.

“Yes,” Louis admits. “I mean, I felt obligated, but. But, yes, I genuinely wanted to marry her. I thought I was in love with her, and I wanted our baby to be born into a family, so.”

“Thought?” Harry asks. He bites his tongue to keep from saying anything else, because now he’s the one figuratively kicking himself in the ass.

“Harry, if being in love is what I feel when I’m with you, then I’ve never been in love before.”

“Okay,” Harry says, trying his hardest (and failing pathetically) to keep himself from smiling so wide his cheeks grow sore. “Okay, yeah. Okay. You can carry on now. I mean, if you want to.”

“Okay.”

“And Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too,” Harry says, throwing his efforts to the wind. It’s probably not an appropriate time to feel his warmest or smile his hardest, but there isn’t enough will power in the world to keep himself from feeling like exploding when Louis looks at him like that, and further confesses things like that. Sue him. Louis smiles at him in return, and Harry can feel embers from the flame that is his heart coursing through his veins.

“Where was I? Right, so, I waited for sixteen hours, refusing to take a seat in that stupid fucking hospital waiting room while she was in labour, because I didn’t want to miss a thing. I bounced around on my feet in the hallways, asking doctors when it was okay for me to see her, asking if I could be in the delivery room, asking if she could get painkillers. I was a mess Harry, but it was the best day of my life,” he finds himself laughing now, into Harry’s shoulder. It’s breathy and a bit choppy, but it’s laughter nonetheless, and Harry’ll take it. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“Did you have to wear one of those hospital gowns to be in there?” Harry asks, plying out Louis’ soft happiness about the arrival of his daughter while it lasts.

“I had to wear the damn thing just to feed her ice chips, let alone stand in on her giving birth,” Louis tells him.

“Very hygienic,” Harry nods considerably.

“I should have known right then,” he sighs. “I asked her what she wanted to name our little baby girl, and she made a bit of a face, which I considered to be indecisiveness, and then she told me she was leaving the job to me. And holding her, well, she never held her for long without wanting to pass her off, and I never thought anything of it. I mean, she sugar-coated it, you know? ‘Look who loves her daddy,’ and ‘You’re so good with her already, Lou. Why don’t you take her?’”

“So she coaxed you through the abandonment of your child?” Harry asks, so utterly and completely baffled.

“For the most part, yeah,” he says. “And when we got home there was always something. ‘I’m in too much pain, can you bathe her?’ And don’t even get me started on late night feedings, god forbid I wake her up to nurse. ‘Louis I pump for a reason, babe. There’s a bottle in the fridge.’ She just didn’t want to be around her.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmurs.

“How does a mother do that?” Louis asks, as if Harry’s holding all the answers to the things he’s never been able to comprehend. “How do you carry around a baby for nine months, give birth, hold this little human being that is a miraculous and perfect combination of both her parents and then just fucking leave when she’s a month old?”

Harry doesn’t know what to say by this point. He can feel Louis’ shoulders quaking, and his lips are pressing I’m sorrys into Louis’ hair as he feels his t-shirt dampen.

“She didn’t even say goodbye, Harry,” Louis chokes. “She just left me a note. Me, as if I’m the one who deserved anything from her. As if her fucking daughter wasn’t of enough importance to spend the two seconds it would take to acknowledge her fucking existence—I can’t do this anymore Harry. I can’t, I’m done.”

“It’s okay, that’s more than okay,” Harry whispers, his hand stroking circles into Louis’ back. “We don’t have to talk about this anymore, let’s just—here,” he says, wiping Louis’ tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t want to have to tell her what happened,” he says, broken and continuing to break into Harry. “She knows she’s not around, and that she’s never coming back. But one day—Harry, one day she’s going to ask why and I don’t want to tell her that.”

“When that day comes, whether it’s in two years or twenty, you’re not going to have to do it alone,” Harry promises. 

Louis whispers how much he loves Harry against his lips, kissing him like he’s a lifeline, and he’s just barely got himself pulled together when Genevieve’s bedroom door creaks open and the little girl wanders into the kitchen. She walks up, squishing herself between the two of them and grabbing a hold onto Harry’s leg.

“Do you feel better now Harry?” Genevieve asks softly, and he picks her up, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“One hundred percent,” he says. He grabs Louis’ wrist with his free hand and takes them both over to the table, sitting them down in their respective seats. “What shall we have for breakfast today?”

Genevieve asks for a cup of tea (with lots of milk in it so it’s not too hot and lots of sugar so it’s not too tart) and Harry prepares that while he pulls out everything he’ll need to fry up some omelettes in a pan. Harry makes note of the way Louis’ lips are still tugged downward into a half frown and he spends the rest of the day catering to what Louis needs to bring that tight lipped toothy grin back to his beautiful face.

 

 

❖

 

 

“We have a date!” Harry exclaims as Louis comes home from work, just barely through the door. It’s been about a week since the engagement party, and although it might seem a little fast, Louis and Harry don’t want to wait, remember?

“A date?” Louis asks, pulling his jacket off and hanging it up in the closet.

“For the wedding,” Harry explains. “It’s perfect, really, there was this couple that was supposed to get married on April 19th at Rain Bar, but they’re postponing their date, so it’s up for grabs if we want it.”

“And do we want Rain Bar?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows. He’s never even been to Rain Bar, if he’s honest.

“I looked into it, and the place is gorgeous Louis, probably the closest thing we’re going to find to perfect in a wedding venue,” Harry says, letting out a sing-song sigh that Louis takes as a plea. “And if you want to check it out the manager told me I could just give her a call and we can set up an orientation time, so, it’s up to you.”

“I’m sure we could pawn Genevieve off on Zayn for a little while,” Louis nods. “Give this Rain Bar a call and we’ll go check it out.”

Harry clasps his hands together, dawning a smile that shines with nothing less than delight, and he turns to make his phone calls with the exact newlywed-to-be enthusiasm that the venue manager is expecting to hear. She asks Harry if half seven that night would work for their schedule, to which he tells her that yes, she’ll be seeing them then.

“Alright, I’m gonna go clean up then. Throw Zayn a text and tell him we’ll drop her off after dinner and pick her up on our way home,” Louis smiles and Harry does just that.

When they get there Louis’ eyes are wide and he takes the place in with a deep breath. The outer walls are bricked with old red stones and there are twinkle lights strung from the overhang of the roof. The manager, who introduces herself as Lisa, meets them just inside the tall glass doors.

“You must be the Tomlinsons?” She asks with a smile. 

“That would be us,” Louis confirms, his hand navigating the short space between them to find Harry’s.

“Well, congratulations on your engagement, guys. Here at Rain Bar we would love to host the ideal wedding ceremony and reception to follow for you. We are fully licenced to suit civil ceremonies and can accommodate a party up to fifty persons,” she explains, handing them a Rain Bar brochure and a copy of their catering menus.

“Let’s get started around, shall we?” She says, and she leads them past the hosting podium and the coatracks and takes them right over to a sizable room, empty save for rows of chairs split with an aisle down the middle. “This is known as our boardroom, where the magic happens; we’ve still got chairs set up from a ceremony held just this past weekend. Of course everything in the venue is subject to your decoration, so we can follow suit with your colour schemes and flower canopies and the likes.”

“Yeah, Lou, look,” Harry says, pointing to the rows of chairs. “Gem was talking about a black cloth for chair covers matched with a red bow. How nice would that look?”

“Oh Curly, you’ve already got this all mapped out, haven’t you?” Louis muses.

“Shut up.”

“Of course that would look nice,” Louis says, finally giving Harry what he wants to hear. “I like the idea of a flower canopy too, actually.”

“Daisies and tulips and lilies?” Harry grins.

“Read my mind, babe,” he nods.

“There’s a sectional area off to the side if you want to have music as well; we’ve had both instrumentals and lyrical at ceremonies held here in the past,” Lisa tells them, pointing to the designated space for a quaint chamber orchestra. 

As they wander in awe down the aisle and towards the altar, she trails behind them slowly, keeping her papers clasped tightly in her hands. Though when Rain Bar isn’t hosting celebrations or grand business meetings it’s just a simple restaurant, she finds her work to be one of her favourite places, if only because when she’s not serving drinks she’s parading young and terribly in love couples around the place, watching them glow.

“Have you thought about going traditional with the aisle, or doing something a bit more liberal?” Lisa asks them as Harry pulls Louis by the hand around the room, exuberant to say the least.

“We haven’t really thought about that sort of thing yet,” Harry says. “We’ll figure something out.”

“For convenience we can accommodate whatever you prefer; just one of you walking, or both, if you’d like. Unless you’d like to just meet each other up front, that would work too. Contemporary weddings are orchestrated and tweaked to suit the couple’s liking, so you don’t have to worry about being modified by the history of marriage ceremonies. But, you’ve got time to run things over with your planner and map these things out,” she explains. 

“Yeah,” Louis nods for the both of them. He’s sure the matter won’t go undecided for long, Harry is bound to bring the thought up with his sister and the three of them will come to some sort of quintessential aisle agreement.

“In the meantime, how about I take you over to the dining area?” Lisa offers. Before they know it they’re swooped away, completely monopolized by the gorgeous chandelier lit room, the large and modernized glass bar, and the extravagant terrace. It’s nothing less than a fact that neither Harry nor Louis has seen a place with such beauty. They picture their wedding night and the scene falls easily into the room before them. 

By the time she’s lead them through the whole place they’ve fallen more head over heels for it, and they make sure to tell her that they are interested in the open date. After making arrangements to drop off the deposit they leave wired with anticipation, already starting the seven week countdown until the wedding.

 

 

❖

 

 

  February seamlessly rolls into March, and the wedding plans pause for no one. Except Genevieve, of course. With her birthday only a few days away, Louis finds himself completely aghast; there’s no way his little girl is already going to be five!

  “So the big day is coming up. What kind of cake do you want for your birthday little one?” Harry asks her after they’ve finished dinner that evening. He really should have thought that one through. She is her father’s daughter.

  “Are you really asking me that?” She’s never seemed more perplexed than she is in that moment, the expression on her face a spitting image of her father’s. Harry shrugs.

  “We are a chocolate-cake-only family, Harry. No white cake shall ever pass through our door,” Louis snuffs. The worst part is, he’s serious, too. “White cake is practically a criminal offence.”

  “You sound like a cult,” Harry laughs.

  “A chocolate cake cult is a cult just as good as any to be a part of.”

  “You’re strange,” Harry rolls his eyes.

  “But you love me.”

  “I suppose I do,” he sighs. “But that still doesn’t change the fact that I like white cake.”

  Louis just isn’t having it, and shaking his head begrudgingly he says, “That’s it, the wedding is off. I can deal with most of your quirks, Harold, but this one crosses the line.”

  “Oh, what was that? Did I hear you say you want a three tiered white wedding cake? Iced in creamy white also?” Harry’s brows rise with the flow of his sarcasm and Louis squirms in his seat and crosses his arms.

  “Harry?” Genevieve murmurs, interrupting the banter. He looks to her and smiles sweetly, waiting for her to carry on. “We can have white cake if you want.”

“Not a chance, kiddo. It’s your birthday, so we’re having your favourite,” Harry says matter-of-factly. Genevieve lets out a sigh of relief, because, well, she really loves chocolate cake.

“Good, it’s settled; chocolate cake,” Louis declares. “Now, bath time for my little girl, because you’ve had glitter glue on your face since you got home from school.”

“I’ll take a bath…if I can get a bouncy house for my birthday.”

“Creative ultimatums, I like it. Not sure a bouncy house will fit in the flat though, we might have to throw the couch out the window to make some room,” Louis considers.

“Talk bouncy houses while you wash up,” Harry says. He piles plates up in one hand and points swiftly down the hall with the other. “The bathroom is that way.”

And so they take to it: bath, pyjamas, cartoons, and bed. As Genevieve slips under the covers, Louis grabs a book from her nightstand and flips through its pages until he comes across a poem they’ve yet to read. They settle on Walt Whitman’s A Promise to California.

“A promise to California,

Or inland to the great pastoral Plains, ad on to Puget Sound and Oregon;

Sojourning east a while longer, soon I travel toward you, to remain, to teach robust American love,

For I know very well that I and robust love belong among you, inland, and along the Western sea;

For these States tend inland and toward the Western sea, and I will also.”

Genevieve stretches and lets out a yawn just as Louis folds the book closed. He kisses Genevieve goodnight and leaves the room, Harry just single step behind him. Just behind the door he closes, his beautiful little girl sets in for a night of slumber, and pretty soon he will be too.

 

 

The next morning brings all of the Birthday Eve promises. A completely unsuspecting Genevieve is fed, bathed, changed, and brought to school, her father doing the same before heading to work all the while knowing Harry is up to party planning with all the jazz and glitter a five-year-old could possibly dream of.

Zayn lends a hand, picking up a car-less Harry and joining him on a trip to every party planning venue in Manchester. By the end of their mission they’ve got a back seat full of balloons, streamers, confetti, banners, and beads galore. There’s a different coloured party hat for everyone invited, because, well, Harry couldn’t help himself when he saw them. Who knew hats came in that many shades? He sure found out when he got to the Party Warehouse.

“Which do you think she’d prefer, just chocolate, or double chocolate fudge?” Harry asks Zayn as they stroll through the baking aisle of the grocery shop; thankfully their last stop on the party planning expedition before heading back home for some lunch. 

“It’s Genevieve,” Zayn says explanatorily.

“Good point,” Harry says, thinking about cavities and juvenile diabetes while tossing a box of double chocolate fudge cake mix into the cart. Oh well, you only turn five once, right?

“Sprinkles: pink sugar crystals or rainbow hearts?” Zayn asks, holding the two containers up.

“Pink,” Harry resolves. “But get rainbow candles.”

“On it.”

They move on from the baking section soon enough, flitting through other aisles until their cart is overflowing with party foods, sodas, and munchies. 

Harry is decidedly done party planning for the rest of his life when they get back home and he and Zayn are left to lug all of their bags from the car upstairs by hand. It isn’t until they’ve got every last bag in the flat that Zayn asks if maybe it would have been a better idea to have left most of the stuff in the car. What if Genevieve sees it?

Harry’s response is nothing less than a flop onto the couch and a dramatic sigh. “I’ll just throw it in the bedroom closet. She’ll never go in there, and the party is tomorrow anyway.”

“Okay. So what’s for lunch, boss?” Zayn asks, falling to the sofa beside Harry.

“Are you opposed to quesadillas?” Harry asks, though it’s rhetorical. Who is opposed to quesadillas? Nobody. Probably. He heaves himself up and gets out a frying pan, and he’s chopping up some cooked chicken when Zayn enters, taking a seat in Louis’ usual place at their kitchen table.

“So how has the engaged life been going for you?” Zayn asks, making quiet conversation.

He throws the chicken in the pan to heat it up, pondering that for a moment. Not much has really changed, except for the fact that he gets butterflies when he catches sight of the ring on his finger. He’s pretty sure things will feel different as the wedding approaches, if not after they are officially married. “It’s good, I suppose. I kind of feel like I’m in relationship limbo, you know? I mean, we’re not just dating but we’re not married yet, so.”

“Ah,” Zayn nods. “Exciting though, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugs, “If I’m honest I’d feel much happier when it ends. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life than I am ready to be married to Louis.”

“He’s more than ready to marry you too, or so I’ve gathered. And he’s really lucky to have you, y’know.”

Harry smiles, but he doesn’t quite agree with Zayn. Louis is lucky to have him? No, he’s much luckier to have Louis. And Genevieve. Yes, much, much luckier.

“I just mean, like. I don’t think anyone else could take care of Louis and Genevieve quite as well as you do,” Zayn tells him. Zayn, Louis’ best friend for as long as he can remember, is fully appreciative and approving. Zayn does know best.

Harry is flattered, of course, and he throws a thank you to him. But the cogs in his brain start turning because, well, it could have been someone else. In fact, for a while it was someone else. It was someone else who took for granted every moment she had with Louis and Genevieve, neglecting the opportunity to take care of those two absolutely beloved people.

“Hey Zayn, can I ask you something?” Harry says after a few beats of silence. Zayn nods, and Harry continues to be cautious of boundaries by asking further, “Something about…Ruby?”

Zayn splutters for a moment, finding his voice in a cough to clear his throat. He should have seen this coming, but what does he say? No? The situation with Ruby is really none of his business, but it also involves Louis. And Louis is Zayn’s business. And especially Harry’s. “What do you want to know?”

“Just…about her. I guess. I don’t know, Louis doesn’t like to talk about it much, you know, because he worries about Genevieve. I mean, I understand, of course, but he wakes up every day and tends to a little girl who is a constant reminder of his past with her. It hurts him, I know it does, but he refuses to talk about it, and I’m left with nowhere to go and nothing to do when I try to help him,” Harry explains, speaking in a very light kind of way, hoping that Zayn won’t back out of talking about this too. He knows he’s putting him in an uncomfortable position, but if anyone can help him in this predicament, it’s the other person on the face of the earth who knows Louis Tomlinson just as well as he does.

“Well, how much do you know already?” Zayn questions, admittedly a little bit worried about where this could potentially go.

“I know enough from the pregnancy forward. But he still considers her ‘just an ex’, and if she were just an ex I wouldn’t care, in fact, I probably wouldn’t even want to know anything about the two of them being together. But she’s not ‘just an ex’, she’s the mother of his child.”

“I know what you mean, but I don’t know what to say, Harry. She was his girlfriend for a couple years. They did everything any couple would do; junior prom, meeting the parents, sneaking out at night, their fair share of public displays of affection,” Zayn sighs. “He was happy with her, I guess. But I did always get the feeling she was holding out for something more. I’ve never told Louis that before, so I won’t vouch if you say anything about this to him.”

“I won’t,” Harry promises. “I have absolutely no intention of telling him I brought this up with you.”  

“Yeah, probably not a good idea,” he chuckles.

“So she wasn’t happy with him then?”

“What can I say, she took him for granted. Louis is my best friend, and has been for almost twenty years now, Harry, and I mean it when I say nobody deserves to be loved and cared for more than he does.” Zayn would go to the ends of the earth to make sure he gets that declarative point across. He loves Louis, and more than his fair share of shit in this world has been done unto him. Harry though; their chemistry, their relationship, just everything about Harry in general seems to have been Louis’ own bit of saving grace. “He used to bring her up every so often, but he hasn’t at all since he’s been with you. Maybe he doesn’t talk about what he should have gotten from her anymore because he’s getting more than he ever could have dreamed of from you.”

“How am I supposed to help him, though?”

“You are helping him Harry, just by being you.”

Harry knows Zayn’s right, so he presses his lips together and continues to fry up quesadillas. Zayn and Harry are friends, through Louis, of course, but in the near year they’ve spent in each other’s lives they’ve never had a remotely serious conversation. Until then. And it’s nice to see their mutual love for Louis and Genevieve become a tangible feeling. It’s also nice to see their friendship isn’t superficial or for Louis’ sake.

“Shit,” Harry groans. “We forgot to get her birthday present.”

“We’ll have to make another trip after lunch,” Zayn replies, grabbing dishes to help Harry plate the food.

 

 

Louis is very aware that he’s going to regret every part of this when he has to wake up for work the next morning. But here he is, still awake at an ungodly hour of the night, fervently hoping that tomorrow he won’t fall asleep on the phone at the centre.

Harry is curled up in bed, sleeping soundly, Louis assumes. He told him a handful of hours ago that he’d be heading to bed soon, but he really had no intention of it. Now it’s way past dark, and it doesn’t help that he’s got every light in the flat off, spare the television that blinds him slightly when he stands up.

It’s 3:33 in the morning and he tip toes his way down the hall, creaking Genevieve’s door open, trying to be as quiet as possible. He pulls back the sheets on her bed, crawling into the tight space left beside her on the mattress, and he brushes a few strands of her hair through his fingers.

“Hey munchkin,” Louis whispers. “Come on, wake up princess.”

Louis checks his watch, and the clock turns to 3:34 the second her eyes flutter open, blinking a few times out of habit to adjust to the light. Except there is no light, so she’s a bit confused. “Daddy? What time is it?”

“It’s 3:34am, the exact moment, five full years ago, that my little baby was born,” he explains. She blinks a few more times at him, trying to register in her sleepy state what exactly that means. “It’s officially your birthday, sweetie!”

“It is?” She asks, newfound delight flooding her soft voice. She pulls herself up onto her elbows first before moving to sit up completely, leaning tiredly into her father’s warm side.

“It sure is. Come here, munchkin,” he says, opening his arms up for her. Genevieve shimmies over and crawls onto his lap, opening up more space in the bed for the two of them to sit comfortably. “This also means that exactly five years ago, right down to this very minute, was the first time I got to hold you,” he says, pulling her in closer to his chest as he reminisces on the little baby, his little baby, that was at the time no longer than his own forearm. “You’re a little bigger now than you were then, I’ll tell you that.”

“I grew Daddy, I’m not a baby anymore!”

“Don’t I know that, my beautiful big girl,” he coos, kissing the top of her head and resting his cheek lightly against her hair.

She sits gingerly in her father’s arms, feeling the birthday adrenaline spike her veins. Nothing gets anyone as excited as their birthday does. The air seems fresher, favourite foods taste better, hugs feel warmer, and even love feels fonder.

“You know, I was the first person to ever hold you.”

“Like, in the whole world?” She gapes.

“In the whole wide world,” Louis nods. “That was before you even had a name!”

“What did you call me then?” Genevieve asks, because she’s not sure how the whole thing works, but the fact that people don’t have a name for a little while seems a bit absurd to her in that moment.

“I was holding you in my arms, just like we are right now, and I pressed a kiss to your little nose—” Louis pauses the story only long enough to lean in and kiss the tip of her nose, “just like that. And I said, ‘hello, my little munchkin’, and then you started crying. Quite loudly, as I remember.”

“Is that how I got my nickname?”

“That it is,” Louis grins, hoping it’s dark enough that she can’t see the tear that’s beading up in the corner of his eye.

“I love it, you know,” she tells him matter-of-factly. “And I love you.”

“I love you more,” he whispers back. “Happy birthday munchkin.”

“Thank you,” she says with a big yawn. “Daddy will you stay with me until I fall asleep again?”

“Of course I will baby,” he nods, humming an old familiar tune he used to sing many moons ago to get her to sleep. It works like a charm, and he sets her down, crawling out of the bed and giving her another kiss, whispering happy birthday one last time before leaving the room to join Harry in his own.

 

 

“How was work?” Harry asks Louis as he pushes through the door of their flat just after noon-hour. He took the afternoon off for Genevieve’s big birthday party, which of course starts the minute she gets home from school. “You didn’t get into bed until pretty late last night.”

Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and pulls him in against himself, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that unfortunately part mid-kiss for a yawn. “More like early this morning,” he corrects, leaning in to make up for lost kiss time. “But this is waking me up. Kiss me more.”

“Actually don’t kiss him more, thanks,” Zayn says as he walks by, expectedly causing Harry to blush a little. Well, good thing his rosy cheeks wake Louis up some too.

Harry’s arms slink down his back until he finds Louis’ hand at his side, fingers locking as they make their way down the hall. In the living room Gemma is standing on a chair, taping streamers to the ceiling, letting them hang own the wall like a waterfall of multi-coloured birthday party decorations. There are party hats upon party hats stacked in various shades on the shelf, and Liam is blowing up balloons in the corner of the room, tossing them about to liven up the place. Louis sees his mother throwing a pink cloth over their coffee table while Niall flips through old mixed CD’s that Louis had thrown together over the last few months, trying to compile a playlist of all Genevieve’s favourite songs to play when the birthday girl arrives, and there’s a huge white poster strewn out across the floor in front of Zayn with an array of paints and brushes and glitters to decorate the banner with.

“It’s like we’ve got the seven dwarves of party planning working in here. Hi-ho guys, take a break,” Louis laughs.

“Who are you calling a dwarf, Louis Tomlinson?” Gemma calls out from her chair-makeshift-ladder.

“Touché,” he says, raising his brows and putting his hands up innocently. “Well, if you’re not going to take a break, and you’ve got everything covered…can I score a nap before she gets home?”

Naps don’t do Louis any good, and there is absolutely no chance of him being in a festive mood after being woken up from short slumber. If he were to come with an instruction manual, that would be thoroughly pointed out in print. So instead of letting him doze, Harry simply suggests, “You can nap if you want, but you could also help me ice the cake.” 

“Or how about I just watch you ice the cake?”

“Or how about I ice the cake, and you can ice me?”

“Better be chocolate frosting or else I’m not licking anything off of you,” Louis says.

“What you licked off me last night wasn’t chocolate frosting and I don’t think you had a problem with it then,” Harry deadpans.

“Touché. Again.”

Louis is much quieter once he’s sitting at the kitchen table with Harry, pink glittery sprinkles in hand. He grins as he starts throwing them on the cake before Harry finishes icing it, and he learns very quickly that Harry has every intent on making this perfect.

“You don’t fuck around when it comes to birthdays do you?” Louis accuses, retracting the hand Harry outright slapped.

“Certainly not Genevieve’s, anyway,” Harry says earnestly, sticking his tongue out. “Wait until I finish this and then you can cover it with as many sprinkles as your little heart desires.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” Harry smiles, his eyes twinkling at Louis. He’s a fool. He’s an absolute fool when it comes to this man. Albeit a proud fool. 

Jay skitters into the room just as Louis is falling asleep while sitting upright, and she hits him over the head with the birthday card she’s about to fill out, causing him to jump awake, his eyes bursting open with a rush of newfound alert.

“Louis, honey, you’ll probably find it easier to stay awake if you actually do something,” she laughs. “Why don’t you help me wrap Genevieve’s present?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He asks with a cocked brow, full well knowing it’s not.

“You’re right. How about you run to the store and pick up some ice cream to go with the cake instead.” It’s meant to be a suggestion but he knows she won’t take no for an answer, so he pulls himself up from the table and drags his feet across the room as he heads for the door, letting his hand linger and trail over Harry’s back as he goes by. Once he’s left the room Jay leans in close to Harry, muttering, “I’ve known that boy 22 years, and in all that time he could never wrap a present if his damn life depended on it.”

“I heard that,” he quips from the hallway that he’s still trudging down with tired, lead feet.

“Good,” his mother says back, smiling.

 

 

It’s quiet, very quiet in the flat when Harry throws Louis a text saying they’re on their way into the complex. All the lights are off in the flat and everyone is bundled up in the dark together, elbows knocking into ribs and knees knocking into shins; everyone waiting for Genevieve to open the door.

Louis’ sisters are here now, their father took them downtown for a while so everyone else could finish decorating the place without having a group of girls running behind them trashing it, but of course they wouldn’t miss Genevieve’s birthday for the world. Louis is absolutely astounded that their parents managed to get all four girls to sit quiet without fighting for a few minutes, but it’s really happening right before his very eyes. All four of his sisters sitting still and quieter than he’s ever seen them before in his life.

A key turns in the knob and everyone can hear Harry telling Genevieve to head in, though it’s muffled through the door. In no time it’s creaking open and she pokes her head in the flat, her fingertips finding the light switch in the entryway.

“SURPRISE!” 

Everyone is shouting and clapping and heading toward Genevieve, but Louis cuts through all of them until he’s lifting his baby girl—no, sorry, big girl—up into his arms, holding her as she gasps at everyone in the room; everyone that’s there for her.

She’s escorted through her home in her father’s arms, only being let down to greet everyone there and thank them for the copious birthday wishes. The twins hug her first, then she gets a kiss from her both of her grandparents, finds the warm arms of her Uncle Zayn, and after reaching everyone else in the room she finally finds Gemma.

“Did you plan this party too?” Genevieve asks when she picks her up. She can’t help but play with Gemma’s pretty coloured hair while she laughs.

“No sweetheart, this was all your Dad, Harry and Zayn’s doing, I just hung the streamers,” she smiles. She bounces Genevieve up against her hip and says, “Happy birthday little girl.”

“I’m not little anymore!” She protests.

“Right, right, I almost forgot…you’re five! When did you get so old?”

“Today, at 3:34 in the morning, I think,” Genevieve shrugs, and Louis, who caught the end of their conversation while passing by, lets out a little laugh and sends a wink to his daughter.

It’s decided by the birthday girl, of course, that presents shall be opened right away. She takes a seat crossed-legged on the living room floor next to the coffee table that is covered in a massive pile of bags and packages. After she’s torn through everything, the flat looks like a pink tissue paper tornado has barrelled through the place. An abundance of ‘thank you’s are passed around the room, reciprocated with warm hugs one after another. 

When Zayn approaches her, she’s trying to take the doll Niall had gotten her out of its packaging, her face contorted in concentration as she pulls at the plastic. “Hey Genevieve, there’s one more present left,” he says nonchalantly. She looks around the two of them, her face growing puzzled.

“Where?”

“Come with me,” he says, pulling her up off the ground by the hand and leading her down the hall to Louis and Harry’s bedroom. When he opens the door, she finds herself face to face with a little bicycle, accented with training wheels and a big red bow tied around the handle bars. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you, Uncle Zayn! Thank you!” She jumps into his arms, wrapping herself around him in thanks. His embrace is warm and familiar, smelling like leather and happiness. She fervently hopes he’ll be the one to teach her how to ride it. “I love it!”

“I thought you would,” he laughs. “Now, how about we try it out, yeah? Ride it down the hall back to the party?”

“Yeah, okay!” She pulls the bicycle out of the room and hops on the seat, a little wobbly at first, but she gathers herself on it properly and pushes the pedals with her feet until a perfect cycle starts and she’s driving right to the living room. Zayn’s behind her the whole way, a hand on her back to make sure she doesn’t fall back.

“Whoa, where’s that from, baby?” Louis asks, reaching an arm out to steady her as she figures out how to stop.

“Uncle Zayn got it for me!”

“Well thanks for getting me beat,” Louis harps at his best friend. “There go all my cool dad points.”

“You’re still a cool dad,” Harry whispers, attaching himself to Louis’ side and smoothing a warm palm over his hip.

“You promise?”

“So long as you’re a part of the chocolate cake cult, I do,” Harry nods.

Of course, Louis is content with that. He helps Genevieve down off the bike and she zips across the flat to find the twins, shrilling laughter from the three of them filling the room.

The night ages fast, and Louis finds Genevieve half asleep on the couch, most likely a crash in result of the sugar high she’s been strung out on all night. He wishes everyone a good night at the door on their way out, thanking them for coming and assuring that Genevieve loved every moment of it. Gemma and Niall are the last to stray around the flat, picking up napkins and cups and pulling streamers from the walls. Louis shoos them both, thanking them for their help earlier, but he and Harry will take care of the mess tomorrow. Sighing in defeat, Gemma places a kiss on the little girl’s forehead and gives her brother a hug, with one for Louis to follow, and then she follows Niall out the door.

The party is officially over, and Louis picks a sleepy birthday girl up off the couch and carries her to bed, silently wishing her one more very cheesy happy birthday before turning the light off the closing her door behind himself as he leaves.

 

 

❖

 

 

“Alright boys, here’s the plan,” Gemma states pointedly at the two of them. They’re sitting on the sofa together, hands held between their laps. Gemma had arrived at their place bright and early that morning, whirling through their flat like the busybody she is, making them breakfast with a long, and figurative, of course, to-do list in her back pocket. Everything is so well organized, Louis almost expects her to have actually written it down, pulling the nonexistent sheet out to read off their agenda for the day.

“Lay it on us,” Louis quips, and she tells him in her own way to shut up. He settles for putting his hands up in defense, silently promising not to utter another sound.

“Thank you. Okay, first things first, in case you weren’t aware, there’s only five weeks to your wedding. Which, in case you also weren’t aware, will be probably the most elegant and thoroughly planned evening either of you will ever spend in your hopefully long and tightknit lives.”

“Probably?” Harry challenges, cocking a brow.

“Scratch that; definitely.” 

They both nod, because that’s more like it.

“Alright, so you’ve got a meeting at the florists at one o’clock. You have to come to a final decision on flowers today, and I’m talking all of them. You’ve got about an hour and a half to decide on everything from boutonnieres to table garnishments to canopies. From there, you’ve got an appointment at Slaters for a tuxedo fitting. I’ve told them what designs you’re interested in and a general size idea, but they need to be tried on and taken in if need be. Then we hit Rain Bar. They want some sampling done and hopefully have your menu picked and set in stone this afternoon.” 

Gemma pauses, taking a breath while giving them time to process that. They’re a little wide-eyed, but everything makes sense and sounds manageable. They’re extremely grateful for Gemma’s involvement, otherwise they might have found the whole planning ordeal a bit overwhelming.

“So why did I have to get up at seven in the morning on my day off?” Louis whines. He’s showered, been fed, and driven Genevieve over to Zayn’s and it’s only 8:30. He usually tries not to get up with the sun when he doesn’t have to be.

“Because you’ve got invitations to prepare and drop off at the post office,” Gemma explains. “Then we’ve got an hour to slot in lunch before your first appointment.”

“We should do, like, an assembly line for the invitations,” Harry suggests.

“Have I ever told you you’re a nerd?” Louis asks with mock genuinity. It’s just what Harry is. A charming, thoughtful, and heartwarming nerd.

“It’s usually followed by a proclamation of love,” Harry shrugs, his mouth smirking around the words.

Louis’ lips tug up into a smile, and when he says, “Well, my dearest nerd, if I didn’t love you I wouldn’t get up before the sun rises on my day off to send out our wedding invitations, would I?” Harry’s smirk melts into a smile to match.

“Anywho,” Gemma sighs, staring at the ground as though she’s found thorough interest in the grains in the floorboards. “I’ll address the envelopes. Louis, you can seal them. And Harry your job will be to slap a stamp on ‘em.”

And so they formulate the routine at a pace that works, and soon enough they’ve got a stack of wedding invitations that are ready to be mailed out. Harry couldn’t possibly be further pleased by the efficiency of his assembly line idea.

They finally get all of them addressed, sealed, and stamped, and over the course of the morning all had gone over perfectly. Except, well, you know…

“My tongue is on fucking fire,” Louis harrumphs with a great lisp. He sighs. “This is the end for me. I never thought the cause of my death would be envelopes.”

“You’re so melodramatic. Grab a glass of water,” Gemma says, sticking her own perfectly normal feeling tongue out at him.

Harry, being Harry, tries to kiss it better, but his face scrunches up. “You taste like glue.”

“You’ve kissed me before I’ve brushed my teeth, and yet it’s glue that’s a turn off for you?” Louis shakes his head, astounded, leaning in to swipe another kiss from Harry’s lips. “Taste any better?”

“No. But I’m sure I’ll get over it,” he mumbles, kissing Louis several times more before Gemma coughs and they jump back, pretending to be embarrassed, as though this rarely happens to them. Which everybody knows is awfully far from the truth.

After they drop the invitations off at the post office and have lunch at a small café just downtown, the three of them stroll briskly through the doors of the florists shop, met face to face with a thick odorous wall of spring and new life and breezing pollen. The lady on shift today is walking down an aisle of roses, spritzing water onto the flowers with a spray bottle, keeping them both lively and lovely.

“Are you my one o’clock?” She calls out to them, making her way over. “Tomlinson-Styles for a wedding, if I’m correct?”

“That you are,” Harry grins.

It isn’t long before they’re submerged into flower talk. The lady pulls out an album of previous wedding floral décor they’ve created before, and the boys are in awe. 

They decide that for canopies they’d like to stick with a light on light scheme; white roses, daisies, and lilies to hang overhead in the ceremonial room, and for tables they will stick to the sharp colour scheme they’ve got going on with their upholsteries; picking arrangements of ivory and burgundy open roses.

Just as they’re about ready to make their way out of the shop, Louis stops dead in his tracks, reaching his hand out and curling it around Harry’s bicep to pull him in close. “Excuse me,” he says softly, turning to look for the shop keeper they’d just spent the hour perusing floral arrangements with. He looks from her to the bunch of little flowers he’s picked up, the loveliest shade of purple he’s ever seen. He reaches a hand out, his fingers brushing over the gossamer green stems before thumbing over a few tiny petals. “What are these?”

“Those would be ipomoea purpureas. Or morning glories, if you will,” she tells him.

Louis tugs at the stems of a couple little purple flowers, pulling them out of the bunch and tucking the morning glories into Harry’s hair, nestled just behind his ear. Splashes of purple jump out from behind those wild brown curls, and yes, it looks perfect. Delicate, beautiful, stunning; the list could go on and on. Louis is content. Harry is smiling wider than what one might think is even physically possible, his dimples concave with his uncontained happiness.

“I think I’ll be taking that bunch,” Louis blushes. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“No charge today, Mr. Tomlinson. Good luck to the both of you in your marriage,” the shop keeper says when he brings them to the till. She’s practically melting at their fond, but can you blame her?

They take their leave with a thank you and a quick goodbye, as well as a handful of little purple morning glories that Louis has every intention of pulling apart and decorating Harry with throughout the day. 

The afternoon sun is beating down on them as they walk down to Slaters to be fitted for their tuxedos. Black on black, as they decided. They’re greeted at the door by a short man in expectedly well-tailored pants with a pencil tucked behind his ear and a measuring tape around his neck like accessories.

“I’m Louis Tomlinson,” Louis says, reaching a hand out to shake the tailor’s. Then, pointing next to him, he says, “and this is Harry. We’re here to try on wedding tuxes?”

“Ah, yes, that’s right. My three o’clock,” the man mumbles, reaching for his pencil and pulling a palm-sized agenda from his back pocket to scribble in. Once he’s done he puts everything back in its place and he pulls a finger in to gesture ‘follow me’, and so they do, Gemma skirting not far behind.

“I can’t wait to see you in your tux,” Louis says to Harry, under his breath, of course. This is his first time actually being let in on the wedding planning, and the whole thing is illimitably surreal. He can’t believe he gets to share this experience with Harry. He can’t believe he’s marrying Harry. He’s decided the whole thing will become much more tangible to him once the two of them are all dolled up in what they plan to wear on the big day.

“Can’t wait to see you out of your tux.”

“Play your cards right, Styles, and you might just get what you bargained for,” Louis teases. Though, really, he may not be teasing all that much.

“Okay, gentlemen. I’ve got a 40 short, double breasted, black Santinelli,” the tailor says, holding up a dressing bag. The idea of unzipping that to reveal the suit gives both of them butterflies.

“That’s mine,” Louis says, reaching out to grab the dressing bag from the man. 

Once he’s got it in his own hands, the man turns to grab the other from the rack beside himself. He hums considerably. “I had this Fellini picked out for you based on your description, but seeing you in person, I’ve changed my mind. Hold on one second, sir.” And out of nowhere the tailor is buzzing to the back of the store, returning with an entirely different dressing bag. He hands it to Harry after eyeing him up once more, just to be sure he’s made the right choice. “Here, try this on for size. It’s a 42 regular, slim fit, black Lambretta.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, taking the bag in one hand, fondling the zipper in anticipation with the other. “Where should we...?”

“To find the dressing rooms, go straight down that hall,” the tailor says, pointing behind the both of them. “Make a left, and you’re there. Take as long as you need, I’ve got all afternoon to make the adjustments.”

Really though, he should have known. For years to come, every time he looks back on this day, Louis will still blame the man and his poor choice of words. They very much so do take their time.

Harry slides his suit on nice and slow. There’s a mirror in the dressing room, and he watches himself step into each pant leg, and pull each arm through. He imagines his wedding day, and what it will feel like on the day when he’s fastening the buttons and slipping his hands into his front pockets. 

“Hey baby, come out when you’re done,” Louis says softly, tapping on the door of Harry’s dressing room. 

Harry sucks in a huge breath, holding it in while he pinches his lapels between his thumbs and forefingers, and he shrugs better, more relaxed, into the jacket on the exhale. He is about to see Louis Tomlinson in the outfit he’s going to marry him in. His heart is beating so fast he’s sure it’s about to make a one-way trip jump right out of his chest cavity. Time feels impossibly slow as he reaches for the door handle, turning it, and pushing the door between him and his man open very, excruciatingly slowly.

The first thing he notices is how the deep black fabric wraps around Louis’ shoulders deliciously. It’s like this tuxedo was made just for him, the way it hugs around his frame perfect to the mold of his body. It accents the width of his biceps before creasing in all the right places at his elbows, and god double-breasted was perfect on him—the lines of buttons making a narrowing path down his abdomen until the jacket cuts off at the hips. And, let it be known that Louis’ legs are by far the most beautifully sculpted legs Harry has ever seen. He’s completely blown out of the water by the way the pants, and that sinful looking seem line, compliment everything from the thickness of his tastefully muscular thighs all the way down to his tiny little ankles, that, of course, are currently hidden by a pair of shiny black dress shoes.

“Wow,” Harry breathes. Louis opens his mouth to say something, but Harry claims this moment as his. “I don’t know what the hell I did to get myself here, but fuck, I must have done something right if I get to marry you.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Louis dismisses. “Because I have a long list of skeletons in my closet and mistakes I’ve made, and so obviously it’s nothing short of a miracle that I, of all people, get to marry you.”

“I love you,” Harry says, shaking his head like who even is this fucking guy? oh yeah, mine. And Louis doesn’t let a moment pass before he’s uttering the same words back.

“Hey babe, c’mere a minute,” Louis says as Harry bends down to fix a crease in his pant leg. He stands back up almost immediately, and Louis turns him around with a puzzled look on his face. He flicks a piece of white fabric that was sticking out on the back of Harry’s neck, patting the spot contentedly after it’s tucked back in. “Sorry, your tag was sticking out,” he says, and Harry blushes. Louis doesn’t let his hands fall from where they rest now on Harry’s broad shoulders. Through the door gap of the partially open dressing room they can see themselves in the mirror, and Louis looks into the eyes of Harry’s reflection as he begins softly massaging circles into his upper back.

“Oh god, isn’t this some sort of bad luck thing?” Harry bemuses after a couple minutes. “Should we be seeing each other in our wedding outfits before the wedding?”

“I thought that superstition only applied to wedding dresses?” 

Okay, yeah, Louis’ got a point. Harry shrugs.

“But maybe, we should take them off? You know, just in case,” Louis suggests, raising a brow.

“Uh, just to be safe. Yeah,” Harry says, his voice unsure and his words a little choppy. To be honest, his thoughts have been completely harebrained, probably in result of every drop of his blood shooting right to his cock since Louis began touching him.

“Let me help you,” Louis says, his voice low and sultry, hot breath hitting the back of Harry’s neck. He leans in, wrapping his arms around Harry’s chest, unclasping the buttons of his shirt in one swift movement as his fingers run over them.

Harry’s head lolls back onto Louis’ collarbone, his jaw unhinging, leaving his mouth open as he heaves out panted breaths. Louis’ hands splay out over the bare skin of Harry’s chest that now peaks out from behind his open pleated shirt, and his heart flutters rapidly beneath Louis’ palm. He shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, and Louis peels it off the rest of the way, tossing it to the side and bringing his hands back to Harry’s body as though his fingerprints exert the negativity drawn to the positive magnetic field of his lover’s torso.

Louis unclasps Harry’s trousers and he shimmies them off his hips before stepping out of them. It’s blindingly fast after that, one might go as far as to say needy, even, as Harry barely takes the time to loosen Louis’ pants at the waist before he’s hastily pulling them down to his ankles. And god, there is absolutely no way they’re coming off, or the shoes for that matter, because he hasn’t got the will power anywhere within to stop himself from grabbing Harry’s hips and hoisting him up against the wall of the change room. 

Harry wraps his long, lean legs around Louis’ waist, one hand grasping the sweat slicked skin of Louis’ shoulder and the other bracing the wall behind himself for support. Louis slides his hand down Harry’s thigh, slowly feeling over every morsel of his skin, igniting a very powerful heat in the both of them, and eventually he follows the curve of his leg and firmly plants his hand right where Harry’s waist melds into his arse, fingertips digging into the round of his bum.

“God, you are so beautiful,” Louis says between laboured breaths, his free hand reaching up to push Harry’s fringe out of his eyes, so close to the other boy that he can see his own reflection in them.

 His hand falls to where their bodies meet, skimming over Harry’s groin, where his muscles are pulled unwaveringly tight. Without any further hesitation, Louis wraps his hand around both of their achingly hard cocks, taking himself in his palm and Harry in the curve of his fingers. As he pulls upward into a concentrated stroke, he elicits a whimper from the back of Harry’s throat and rut of his hips, pushing himself up further into Louis’ hand.

The friction between them builds as Louis jerks them steadily in his practiced hand at a rhythm that satisfies the both of them. He smooths his thumb over the head of his own cock, knees buckling slightly before he regains control, and then grazes over Harry’s as well, and Harry pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as Louis takes his grand old time circling the crown and teasing the slit.

Grinding skin against heated skin, Louis’ hand tightens around their leaking cocks, swiping precum on the pad of his thumb on the stroke back down to the base, and he can feel himself getting closer and closer with each twist of his wrist. As he speeds up the pace of his full fist, his other hand slides further down Harry’s arse until he’s brushing over his hole, pressing his forefinger against the tight ring of muscles that make him quiver and quake at the touch.

One final brush over Harry’s hole and his whole body is tensing, legs clenching tighter around Louis’ waist, hand slipping down his chest. His fingers tremble over Louis’ nipple in just the right way and white hot pleasure bursts within them, both of them coming onto the roof of Louis’ hand as he jerks them through their entwined moment of euphoria.

And really, that’s that, the tuxedos are a perfect fit.

 

 

Louis spends the next few days orchestrating how he’s going to break it to Gemma that he wants—no, needs—to do some very small yet crucial parts of the wedding planning on his own. He has decided this months ago, actually, the very same day that he picked out the engagement ring. Louis wants to be the one to surprise Harry with wedding bands at the altar, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t. He knows he’s got to talk to Gemma about it first, but the bottom line is, he’s going to do this.

What he doesn’t expect is that as trivial and stubborn a person Gemma is (god knows she’s related to that quirky idiot Louis is so head over heels for), she’s actually quite supportive and trusting of Louis taking things into his own hands, especially when it comes down to this. The last few days he’s spent planning to convince Gemma to leave this one small piece of the large wedding puzzle to him was a waste of his own efforts. The phone call lasted a mere 43 seconds and in that minimal time span he’d talked to her about it and been given good graces in his wedding band ventures. No convincing necessary.

So it’s on this day, March 19th—exactly one month to the big day—that Louis sets out to find the most perfect set of wedding bands that will find home on the fourth finger of the two of them for the very rest of their lives. 

And of course, fate has it out for him again.

Upon his first steps into Fraser Hart jewellers he’s directed over to the glass case that houses rings for various occasions, necklaces made out of pricey metals he’s never even heard of, bracelets with all sorts of charms and gems; the whole bit. He’s offered a catalogue, because if nothing catches his eye they would be happy to order in something that does suit his fancy, but he tells the lady behind the counter that he’s already spotted something he knows his fiancé will love.

“Can I see those ones please?” Louis asks, pointing to the white box that encases the rings that have already won his heart over. She unlocks the cabinet doors and grabs the ring box, asking to make sure she’s got the right ones, and then she hands them over to Louis so he can get a good look.

The rings are identical, 18ct gold flats with a thin strip of white gold around the middle, accenting them for quite a beauty of a display. He can already imagine what a ring like this will look like around one of Harry’s outrageously long fingers, whether it’s in the setting of something like their wedding day itself, or far more mediocre, like grocery shopping or folding laundry.

“I love them. I’ll take the set, please,” Louis grins, handing the jewellery box back over to the employee.

She brings him over to the register where he fills out the paperwork for purchasing and sizing, and she rings him up, and just like that the task is taken care of. Not that wedding band shopping for Harry something Louis even remotely considers to be a task.

“Your rings will be ready for pick up this Friday,” she says, and she hands over his receipt and wishes him a great day on his way out the door.

 

 

❖

 

 

The rest of the month goes by much the same; planning and ordering and making final decisions, but time seems to move slower and slower as each day brings them closer to the date. The hours not dedicated to the wedding are consumed by work, entertaining a rambunctious five year old, and having quiet nights in, bathing in the comfort that almost-married life typically brings.

What was to be just another one of those quiet nights in for the small family turned out to be a night that held something in store for both Louis and Harry that none of them had been expecting. It all starts with a knock on the door at roughly 9 o’clock.

“I’ll get it! I’ll get it!” Genevieve jumps up from the couch, scurrying over to greet whoever has come knocking. Louis gets up, stretches, and follows her down the hall until he’s met with the faces of Niall, Zayn, and Liam.

“Excuse me, Lou,” Niall says as he whirls between Louis and Genevieve, heading for the living room where Harry is curled up on the couch with his legs tucked beneath himself. He reaches out and grabs both of Harry’s hands, pulling him up effortlessly. “Let’s go. Atta’ boy, Harold! Come with me.”

“What’s going on?” He asks, scratching back his floppy hair. Niall brings his hand up to gesture that his lips are sealed and he throws the imaginary key over his shoulder with a shrug.

Once they reach the doorway Harry looks out down the hall, only to see Liam walking away with Genevieve clinging to his back shouting out something about a sleepover. Zayn is pushing Louis further into the flat behind him as Niall pulls Harry out, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a flimsy piece of material. It’s a sash, apparently, that’s powder pink and says Mr. Tomlinson in big sparkly letters, and Niall throws it over Harry’s shoulder, patting it lightly against his chest in satisfaction.

“They’re going out, and we’re staying in,” Zayn explains. “Two days until the wedding, boys. Bachelor parties.”

“Where are you going?” Louis asks Niall, reaching out to fix a wrinkle in Harry’s sash. He likes the sight of Harry draped in his name. Pretty soon it will be his name too, and Louis is absolutely giddy.

“Sorry, that’s information that cannot be disclosed,” Niall says without a whole lot of sympathy.

“Can I at least change first?” Harry asks, looking down at himself. He’s wearing jeans and an oversized jumper that has a patch on the shoulder that his mum had sewn on for him a long, long time ago when it’d split open at the seam.

“Nope, sorry. Bachelor Party rules,” Niall quips.

“That’s not a rule,” Harry argues.

“I’m throwing the party, I make the rules. Zayn’s throwing his party, Zayn makes up his rules,” Niall explains as though it’s just basic common sense. “Now, we need to get going, so, let’s be on our way. Arrivederci and whatnot.”

Harry sighs and leans in to kiss Louis goodbye, a passionate, tongue-swiping-against-teeth kind of kiss, just for the enjoyment of making Zayn and Niall uncomfortable. They don’t part when their lips do, as Louis touches their foreheads together. “Be safe, okay? I need you back in one piece,” he murmurs, kissing Harry’s lips once, twice, three times more, just for good measure.

“Alright, Styles,” Niall places his hands on Harry’s shoulders, desperately trying to ease his best friend away from what seems to be his literal other half. He’s resorted to coaxing. “Listen, you’re my best mate. You have been since we were, what? Ten? And now you’re about to get married. Married. After you tie the knot or whatever I promise I’ll leave you alone, but right now, and I mean right this second, it’s time for me to drag your bachelor ass out for a night on the town to get right drunk. You get me tonight, and then you get Louis for the rest of your life. So, without further ado, can we get a fucking move on?”

Harry figures he can do that for his best friend at the very least, so he straightens up, fixes his pretty sash, and puts on the pleasantest of grins. “Kiss me I’m single,” he says with a wink, and Louis does just that before Harry lets Niall drag him out the door shouting something obscene about getting fucked up.

 

 

Of course Niall takes him to a nightclub. 

And he has barely got his foot over the threshold when he’s offered his first shot. 

It’s dark in there, spare the bass sensitive strobe lights that manage to blind everyone in the room simultaneously, so he can’t really make out what kind of drink is in the little shooter glass he’s holding. And he doesn’t really have much time to figure it out either, because as he squints at the liquid sloshing around in front of him, Niall knocks his elbow up and practically throws the drink down Harry’s throat and pounds one back himself. Harry splutters for a moment, and he’s pretty sure the burning sensation down his throat is destroying his ability to breathe, but once someone gets a beer in his hand though he’s good to go.

“Not so bad, innit?” Niall asks, ruffling up Harry’s hair. 

“Sure,” Harry says, somewhat sour. There’s music playing so loud it’s actually hard to hear, but boy he can sure feel the vibrations of it in his bones. The lights keep changing with the rhythm of the bass, or flickering on and off, and it’s giving him a bit of a headache, if he’s honest. And he’s not even going to mention that he’s been in there all of maybe seven minutes now and his toes have been stepped on a frustrating amount of times. “It’s not so bad.”

A woman walks by, probably a decade older than them and very scantily dressed, and she leans into Harry. She’s got a round tray of shooter glasses in one hand, and she places the other on Harry’s hip. “Mr. Tomlinson, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry says, trying his best to squirm out of her grasp. “I’m, um, getting married.”

“That’s too bad,” she says, though her spirits don’t seem to be that down about it at all. She pretends to nibble at the corner of his ear, clashing her teeth together on the mock bite, and she slaps his bum before handing him one of the shot glasses from her tray. “Cheers!”

“Oh, no, this isn’t bad at all,” Harry drones. “Can we go home now?”

“Not a chance, mate. Do that shot. You’re getting irresponsibly drunk tonight,” Niall says, and he chugs back the rest of his cold beer. “Maybe that way you’ll complain less.”

It works out so that Niall has to order Harry’s first few drinks and then convince him to actually drink them, but as the night goes on, Harry becomes far more enthusiastic. Alcohol and music pump through his veins, he finds himself awestruck at the lit up dance floor, and he grabs two more drinks and drags Niall out there. After about an hour he finds he’s collecting the sweat of everyone else (not to mention his own), his hair is a disaster pointing every which way, and the hem of his sweater has ridden up the side of his toned stomach, revealing the leafy laurel inked into his right side.

“Niall, Niall,” Harry says, sounding more bubbly than a bottle of champagne. He tugs on the sleeve of Niall’s white t-shirt until he successfully gets his attention.

“What?”

“I’m getting marrrrrried,” he giggles. And then hiccups. And then almost trips.

“Yeh, you are,” Niall nods, polishing off his drink and leading Harry back over to the bar. “That’s why we’re celebratin’! What’re we drinkin’ next?”

“Something marrrrrrried people drink,” Harry hiccups again.

“What, like sangria?” Niall jokes.

Instead he leans over the long glass bar and asks the bartender for two of his number one picks, and he nods vehemently before pouring and mixing and decorating, and finally sliding the tall glasses across the countertop to him. Niall takes one in each hand over to Harry, who’s leaning up against a stool just behind him. He has no idea what they’re about to drink, but can they really even taste much at this point, anyway? Probably not.

They’re fruity, that’s for sure. And different tastes wash up against their tongues one after another. It’s carbonated, citrusy, and loaded with rum and another liqueur that Niall just can’t put his finger on. Anyhow, they’re damn good.

The deejay stops the music with a few cool sound effects, and everyone looks around the dark room, puzzled. “Everybody put your hands together,” he announces, and everybody’s clapping, drink in hand, bodies pressed against others. “This one’s goin’ out to Harry Styles, or Mr. Tomlinson, whichever he prefers. Congratulations buddy, this one’s for you.” It’s needless to say that Harry absolutely flips his shit. He’s grinning like a fool, throwing his hands up in the air and all but tackling Niall as he pulls him in for a hug.

“Congratulations!” A group of young girls chime as they walk past the boys to the bar. One has a feather boa around her neck, a tiara on her head, and a pin that says Happy Birthday on her chest.

“This is my best man,” Harry boasts, slapping a hand on Niall’s chest. “I’m getting fucking married, holy shit.”

The birthday girl takes the plastic tiara off, detangling it from her own hair and placing it on Harry’s head of wild curls. “This Mr. Tomlinson is a lucky guy,” she says with a wink.

“No, no, I’m the lucky guy. Tell them Niall, tell them how fucking perfect Louis is,” Harry says, looking like he about to implode when he lets Louis’ name roll off his tongue. It feels kind of weird, actually—his tongue. He’s so drunk everything has lost meaning, and he’s not sure anything is functioning properly. Even his tongue. “Louis. Louis. I’d like to go home to my Louis.”

“We’ve got one more stop to make before we head back. So, finish this up and we’ll find us a cab,” Niall says, clinking their glasses together. He doesn’t have time to see the drink slosh around in his glass because he’s closing his eyes and tipping it back to finish the contents of it in one quick swig.

“Hey, best man,” someone from the birthday girl’s entourage calls out as Niall turns, an arm wrapped around Harry to keep him upward. He cocks his head back to her, interested. “You got a date for the wedding?”

 

While Niall took Harry out for the night of his life, Zayn kept Louis in to play a series of drinking games. Louis must admit, these games took much, much worse of a toll on him when he was a teenager than they do now. Now it’s been four hours and he’s just tipsy. He’s not sure how Zayn on the other hand is right fucked. Louis’ having fun this way though, and he won’t be hung over with everyone else for their rehearsal dinner, which is a win-win.

“Right, uh,” Zayn begins another round. Not that he even has to with the way he’s slurring. He devotes all the concentration he can string together in the moment to finding fool-proof ways to get Louis drunk. “Never have I ever, uh…proposed!”

Louis grins and clinks their glasses together before tipping his back for a drink.

“That was such a good one, mate, I think you should drink more,” Zayn pouts. His eyes are glassy and he shuffles closer to Louis where they’re sitting crossed-legged on the living room floor. He has to push the deck of cards away before he knocks it over completely, but he manages. Even in his state. “Bro, come on.”

“That was the least creative one you’ve pulled out of your arse all night,” Louis laughs. “But I’ll drink more, just for you.”

“Sick! Get on my level,” Zayn’s practically dancing where he’s sat, shoulder to shoulder with Louis, watching him as he chugs what’s left in his glass.

“I don’t even know how to get on that level anymore,” Louis chuckles. Though he extends his glass out for Zayn to pour him another, and that’s a start.

“It’s because you’re a dad,” Zayn sighs. “Hey! I have a dad.”

“Good lad,” Louis nods. “I have a dad too.”

“I think, though, that my pal Genevieve has the best dad.”

“You’re supposed to say that, you’re my best friend,” Louis rejects. It’s no different coming from Zayn to him than it would be coming from his mum. In fact, at this point in his life Louis is closer to Zayn than he is with his mother, so, it probably means even less coming from him. It’s the whole unconditional love thing. You can’t just love someone and be their best friend for 20 years and then turn and tell them they’re an awful parent. He’s pretty sure, anyway.

“No, mate, listen. And I would tell you the same shit if I was sober and barely knew you. You’re a great goddamn parent, alright?” He takes a minute to conjure up exactly what point he’s trying to make here, because he’s about nine drinks too far into that bottle of vodka to sling his thoughts together quickly with coherence. “Look at how hard you work to give your daughter the best she can possibly have, Louis. You’re careful, and you always always keep her best interest in mind, and you surround her with loving and assuring people to be her tightknit role models. I’m fucking proud of you, Louis. And I mean it, because I love you, mate, everything that you do. And that little girl of yours does too,” Zayn spiels, the whole while Louis is blushing beet red, looking at the floor and fingering through a lock of his hair. 

He’s never been told anything like that, not really. It was kind of nice, and endearing. Louis’ got a truck load of little sisters that he loves unfathomably, but he’s so grateful to have a brother in Zayn. So grateful that he can’t even put it into words. He’s known Zayn since before he could even talk, and while he has become family, he still puts Zayn up on that highly respected pedestal that he has kept him up on since, well, probably the time he introduced Louis to the power rangers.

“That means a lot, ya’ sap,” Louis says, nodding his head back and forth. He pats a hand down on Zayn’s leg, says, “I love you too,” and heaves himself up off the floor to grab a couple beers from the refrigerator. 

Time passes just as quickly as the ale bubbles burst all the way down Louis’ throat, but it’s still far too long a wait before Harry is back home, nesting himself the way he does in Louis’ arms. Zayn pushes the bottles on the coffee table in front of them aside and digs around his back pocket until he pulls out a baggy and a lighter. Louis gets a full whiff of what’s inside as soon as Zayn unzips it, and he scoots a foot or so away.

“No way,” he says, crossing his arms. “I’m supposed to be responsible. We literally just had this conversation, Zayn. It’s not happening. I’m a father!”

“Not tonight, you’re not. Get your ass back over here, Tomlinson. Tonight you’re a bachelor, remember? No kids, no wife—err, you get the picture; no one but you. And me, of course,” Zayn rejects. He pulls the spliff from the bag and tosses the cellophane aside, running his thumb over the wheel of the lighter a few times to spark a flame. He knows Louis will crack, he’s just got to mull it over first. The flame licks up into the air three more times before Louis’ shoulders cave in and he reaches out and literally grabs the joint from between Zayn’s fingers.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Louis mutters. “My daughter is at your house, I’m getting married in like, what, thirty-six hours? To a man who has been carted off god knows where, with god knows who, doing god knows what—”

“Louis, babe, relax. He’s fine, he’s only with Niall. I know exactly where they went and what they’re doing,” Zayn assures. He isn’t empathetic for long, though. “Now hit that thing and give it to me.”

“Fuck. Right, okay,” Louis breaths, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply—maybe a little too deep, he comes to realize—when he ignites the flame and lights the tip. He coughs, a lot, a huge puff of smoke coming out his mouth and nose all at the same time, and he can feel every morsel of his throat burn up and down, and he’s genuinely surprised when he doesn’t cough up blood onto the back of his hand. He shrugs, because, okay, maybe he’s being dramatic. It’s not that bad, but then again, the taste of it is still pretty potent on his tongue.

“Again,” Zayn encourages, his dark ravenous eyes looking hopeful as ever. He knocks his elbow against Louis’ ribcage, successfully either annoying him into it or just giving him the courage to bring the blunt back to his mouth.

He pulls off it again, a stream of smoke dancing off the burner between them. This time he’s a bit more careful with the intensity of his inhale, and he lets the lightness take over his head and the pressure build in his lungs before he exhales; the smoke curls around his lips as he breathes it out.

“I haven’t done that since high school,” Louis shakes his head, but that does nothing to stop the buzz. Fuck, he feels like he’s fifteen again.

As Zayn takes a hit, the hefty cloud of smoke in the room becomes apparent to Louis, and in his hazy state he manages to uncross his legs and crawl all the way across the living room floor until he finds the wall, opening the window to air the place out. He’s back just in time for more. In fact, he’s back just in time for a lot more.

The lock of the door jiggling doesn’t even register to Louis as he takes another hit, filling himself up what feels like head to toe with smoke and he hands the joint back to Zayn. His eyelashes bat a few times before his lids close, and when he opens them again he sees Harry stumbling into the room, Niall’s hand on his bicep to help keep him upright. 

Louis doesn’t even think about it, he just gets up and takes a few lethargic steps over to Harry, latching his fingers in those rogue brown curls that are not otherwise tied down by the plastic tiara, and kissing those sinfully red lips harder than he ever has before, the bridge of their noses knocking together as he pulls on his hair. He leaves his lips breathless and it’s Harry letting the smoke out on the exhale, in such a proximity that the cloud engulfs Louis.

“Did you enjoy your night?” Louis asks against his lips, the back of his throat sounding a bit roughed up. He doesn’t move back, doesn’t untangle his fingers from Harry’s hair, and definitely doesn’t let his lips leave Harry. At all.

“I’m supposed to reply with, ‘ask me in about thirty years’, I think,” Harry says, though he’s second guessing himself, so he looks over to Niall for approval, which he gets in a drunken thumbs up. “I am allowed to ask you to come to bed, though.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Louis laughs against his skin. He pulls the lanky monstrosity that is Harry Styles (soon to be Tomlinson) into the crook of his arm, resting his cheek on Harry’s collarbones as he says, “Boys, you know where extra blankets are; I’m taking my man to bed.”

“Did you and Zayn have fun?” Harry asks softly as they crawl under the covers.

“You know what? You can ask me that right after I ask you about your night precisely thirty years from this very day,” Louis winks, though it’s a little sloppy because he’s a little high and a whole lot of tired, and of course, it’s completely invisible in the dark anyway. Harry hums against Louis’ skin and pulls himself closer, and Louis feels…wait, what is that? “Harry, are you still wearing your sash?”

“I might be,” Harry blushes. “I quite like the idea of going by Tomlinson.”

“I quite like the idea of that too,” Louis nods, his cheek pressed against Harry’s messy hair. It’s comforting, the way the locks dance so very softly upon his cheek, even as he moves so slightly.

“Goodnight Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry chimes.

“Goodnight to you too, Mr. Tomlinson.”

 

 

When Harry wakes up the next morning he clambers out of bed and holyfuckingshit he’s going to throw up just about everywhere, so he immediately claps a hand over his mouth and it’s not so much of a stumble as it is an ungraceful sprint to the toilet. The contents of his stomach paint the toilet bowl, and wow, what the fuck did he drink last night? He’s pretty sure he’s invented a new colour, because he’s never seen anything like that before.

“How’re you feeling, babe?” Louis asks with a hint of laughter behind his voice, because he’s feeling fucking great compared to everyone else. He runs a hand through Harry’s hair, smoothing it out of his face as he retches one last time.

“Superb,” Harry groans, though the one simple word takes all the strength his body can conjure up. He pulls himself up on shaky legs and flushes the toilet, letting Louis’ warm arms encase him. He’s got the cold sweats going on, and his clothes are sticking to him in all the wrong ways and he just wants to split open his skin and crawl out of himself. He sighs heavily into Louis’ shirt before asking quietly, “Toothbrush, please.”

Louis hands him his toothbrush and tells him to meet him in the kitchen, because he’s pretty sure someone’s got coffee on and he’s so tired that if he’s going to function anywhere near well today he needs at least half a pot. What a delightful surprise it is to see Gemma pouring coffee into mismatched mugs and popping toast in and out of the toaster and onto plates, setting the table with breakfast for the four of them. Well, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon, so it’s not really breakfast, is it? The specifics aren’t really important, anyway.

“Can you go wake the others up? They’re looking right comfy in the living room, but we’ve got to get a move on. The rehearsal starts in two hours,” Gemma says, just as Harry walks extremely slowly and carefully into the room, latching his fingers into Louis’ shirt from behind and resting his forehead against his shoulder blade.

“Gem, if you could just bring it down a level, please,” Harry begs, softly, of course. “Your voice is sharper than knives.”

“Oh, take a paracetamol and relax,” she laughs. The shrilling noise leaves Harry whining and clutching the fabric in his fingers even tighter.

Louis goes to wake up Zayn and Niall in the living room, Harry tagging along because he refuses to let go of his shirt, but he stops dead in his tracks when he sees them, because it’s way too fucking cute. Zayn is sprawled out on the couch with a pillow tucked under his head, and another pushed right in front of him for Niall, who’s sat upright on the floor, leaning against the couch with the back of his head knocking into Zayn where their pillows meet. There’s a big blanket tossed haphazardly over the two of them, the sheet only reaching halfway down Zayn’s legs, leaving his feet exposed because of the way the blanket hangs off the couch to cover Niall as well. Louis almost doesn’t want to wake them up. But he doesn’t really have a choice, not really, what with Gemma just one room over. And when he thinks about it, the best men are probably a necessary part of the rehearsal.

He shakes Zayn softly until his eyes flutter open, and then he does the same to Niall, easing the boys into consciousness. The smell of coffee wafting into the room probably helps to wake them, and Louis is grateful neither one of them pulls a Harry and makes a beeline to the bathroom. Instead they just wince at the sunlight, and ask with very scratchy, tired voices what time it is.

“After noon,” Louis says. “One o’clock to be exact. Breakfast is awaiting in the kitchen.”

“Thank fuck,” Niall mutters, pulling himself up off the floor, his joints cracking every time he moves. He stretches, his back popping now too, and he lets out an exhausted yawn before schlepping himself on over to the kitchen. Not but a moment later they’re all in there, mug in hand, sitting across from each other at the table. There’s nothing but the sound of them munching on toast, but even that is raucous to Harry, piercing through his head with an enthusiastic pain.

A lively little girl all but bursts through the door, Liam not too far behind her, and she runs to the kitchen and jumps onto her father’s lap. Her hair is knotty and thrown up into the sloppiest ponytail he’s ever seen, and there’s a rather large and unidentifiable stain on her left pant leg. Liam has got big dark circles under his eyes, his brows are pulled together, and his shoulders slumped. Behind him he pulls a suitcase, as well as Genevieve’s bag that’s slung over his arm.

“Why, hello Mr. Mom,” Louis grins. “How was your venture into my life for the night?”

“It was great. Awesome, really. Anytime,” he deadpans. He yawns and continues, this time much lighter. “I mean, I won’t jump up and volunteer to take her for the night probably like, ever again, but you know. I think we did alright, yeah?”

“Liam let me paint his nails,” Genevieve grins. At least someone looks happy and well-rested. “And we had marshmallows and hot chocolate for breakfast. Oh, and Liam said we were best buddies.”

She seems quite content having spent the night with a now worn out Liam, and Louis is glad. “Best buddies, huh?” He asks, and Genevieve nods. “But, you missed me, right?”

“Of course, Daddy! And Harry,” she shouts, jumping off of Louis to go hug Harry. Harry flinches, of course, but he wraps an arm around her lightly, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Harry, are you okay?”

“He’s not feeling so great today,” Louis tells her. He gets up and pulls her by the hand away from Harry, leading her down the hall. “Let’s go run you a bath, okay sweetheart?”

“I brought your stuff over,” Liam tells Niall, tapping his fingers idly against the handle of the suitcase beside him. Niall nods and mouths a thanks as he brings his mug back up to his lips, letting the steam coming off his coffee warm him up. “Our tuxes for tomorrow are in the car, should I bring them up? We’re all getting ready here, right?”

“That whole superstition thing,” Gemma says doubtfully. “They really shouldn’t be seeing each other before the wedding. So, Louis will be staying at your place with you and Zayn tonight, and you’ll be getting ready together tomorrow, and Niall and Harry will stay here. I’ll take Genevieve for the night, if that’s fine by Louis. I’ve got some girly things planned with Mum and Jay back at the hotel.”

Once things are figured out they all finish up at the table, carrying their plates to the sink, and Zayn hooks himself onto Liam’s arm, letting him lead the way out the door after biding their quiet goodbyes. Niall cozies himself on one end of the couch, throwing a blanket over his legs and hoping to fit in a catnap before he’s queued up to get ready, which, unfortunately for him, only ends up lasting a mere nine and a half minutes. The time sweeps by as Gemma packs things Genevieve will need for her stay at the hotel that evening and to get ready for the wedding tomorrow, Niall ransacks Harry’s drawers looking for aftershave, and of course, Harry and Louis are able to put aside their hangovers and unfathomable wedding jitters for a couple minutes as they swap handjobs in the shower. 

“Are you ready to do a quick run-through of the biggest day of your lives?” Gemma asks with perfect posture and keen solidarity. She’s like a commander to them at this point, and she’s standing in front of the door with a line-up of the other four facing her. Louis resists the urge to salute her as she opens the door and bellows a hand in the direction of the hallway to instruct them out. She slaps his shoulder when he throws her a smirk on the way out the door, and says, “Wedding rehearsal, here we come.”

 

 

The rehearsal runs through without a single flaw, and to Louis and Harry, life is looking too good to be true. They’re on top of the world at this point, as now that things have settled down they all gather around for a big rehearsal dinner with their close family and friends. Of course, they picked none other than their restaurant for the occasion, having a grand table set up on the terrace to fit all fifteen of them around comfortably.

“We’re going to make this short and sweet, I promise,” Harry begins to say, standing in front of them all, handing in hand with Louis, of course, just after their waiters bring everyone’s drinks around.

“Because we all know Harry could hold us up here all night if we didn’t,” Louis jibes, pinching Harry’s hip with his free hand. Harry squirms and gives a little jump before scowling at Louis and looking back up to their families.

“As I was saying,” he emphasizes, though it’s light, and he squeezes Louis’ hand tighter within his before he goes on. “Short and sweet, we promise. But first, to get a little sappy, I should have you all know that this very restaurant, on this very terrace, actually, is where I took Louis out on our first date. And would you look where we are now?” He’s breathless, from shock, most likely. He can’t believe how far they’ve come together, and now they’re coming full circle at the very place they began at. It’s a bit of a sentimental piece of their world, alright, and Harry can’t believe he’s still as smitten today as he was then. Or, well, he can, because it’s Louis. But you get the picture. “And, yeah, so, we just want to thank you all for loving and supporting us, being such an important part to both of our lives and life we’re about to start together, and for helping to make all our dreams come true.”

“Harold here couldn’t have put it any better; we’re truly blessed to have families like you. Thank you all for being a part of this, or us, rather. We couldn’t have asked for better people to have tonight, tomorrow at our wedding, and of course, here to share the rest of the important days with for the rest of our lives. We love you all more than we can possibly put into words. So, with that, we thank you kindly,” Louis says, wrapping their little speech up nicely, and he flashes them a truly genuine toothy grin.

“Cheers!” Zayn and Niall shout harmoniously, raising their glasses. “To Louis and Harry,” Zayn chimes further, and everyone raises their glasses, clinking them together as they repeat back, “to Louis and Harry.”

“Cheers, guys,” Harry blushes, and he smacks a wet kiss on Louis’ cheek before they take their seats.

 

 

❖

 

 

A whirlwind of events take place after their dinner party, starting with everyone separating to their own wedding-preparation-headquarters. Louis’ and Harry’s families all head back to their hotel rooms collectively, and Gemma wastes no time gathering Anne and Jay, Genevieve, and all of Louis’ little sisters and taking them down to the hotel spa to lounge sporting the purest form of clay pore masks, shaking off wedding adrenaline in the most relaxing way. Niall and Harry collapse onto the bed as soon as they get back to the flat, talking into the late hours of the night until finally the rising sun pulls him out of bed with a promise of the day. Zayn and Liam take Louis back to theirs, and maybe they should have thought this one through a bit more because there are two very important sources of stability in Louis’ life, and on the night of his bachelor party perhaps Zayn should have realized he is a wreck without Genevieve and/or Harry. Just as Louis is about halfway done flipping his shit, it occurs to Zayn that his method of calming definitely worked the last time. And that is how Louis finds himself staring at the ceiling, contemplating life at 3am on the night before his wedding, and somehow waking up despite the fact that he does not remember falling asleep at all, and smelling quite like cannabis if Liam does say so himself, and of course, with only 45 minutes until he is due to be at Rain Bar to be wed.

Niall is clasping cufflinks (“Harry, mate, you look right handsome. It’s time to get out there and marry that man.”) while on the other side of town Zayn is pinning on a boutonniere (“Louis, mate, you have two different shoes on, pull your shit together before Harry changes his mind.” “Very funny, you wanker.”). 

And somehow they both end up at the venue, on time and put together, and when they meet Louis pulls Harry in for the most absolutely necessary kiss on the freaking planet, probably, and he twines his fingers in the back of Harry’s hair while the other slides down his impossibly long torso until sticking its landing on his hip.

Gemma rounds the corner and runs (well, she tries her best to, anyway) in the bluest blue dress and impossibly high heels known to man, linked hand in hand with a much smaller girl who is dawning a crimson dress, little black flats, and a flower crown made of tiny roses sat atop her loosely curled hair. Louis could cry. Louis does cry. His baby girl looks all grown up. And somewhat like a cinnamon heart. A grown up little cinnamon heart.

She extends her arms out for him, the universal sign of, I am still light enough to be carried, please lift me off the ground so I do not have to take another step and so of course he picks up her majesty and she curls into her father, tapping the wetness beneath his eye with the pad of her thumb and after deciding that yes, it is a tear, she leans in to blot it away with a kiss. “Don’t cry daddy, today is supposed to be happy!”

“I am so unbelievably happy, princess,” he sighs, knocking his forehead against hers and pulling Harry in closer with the hand still pressed to his side. “So, so happy.”

Louis is happy, and with absolutely no doubt about it he will continue to be happy, but a bit of trouble does come along with that whirlwind that is pre-wedding, wedding, and wedding reception.

When they head inside they find the place is phenomenally decorated, there are so many flowers and lights and candles that the place looks fucking immaculate. It’s by far the prettiest place any of them have ever seen, and they owe such a great thanks to Gemma for helping to set this place up. She and their mothers have spent almost every waking hour of the last three days here putting everything together and insisting to the boys that they can handle it by themselves, that they wanted it to be a surprise when they show up. And that’s exactly what it is. Neither of them could have ever imagined the place to be so perfect.

They and their families all trickle over to the board room where the ceremony will take place, and find that the people they cherish most are filing in one by one, couple by couple, and soon the room is filled with delighted people ready to take part in these two boys that they all adore getting married.

“Who’s ready to get married?” Gemma says quietly, her melodic voice filled with the most excitement anyone has ever heard. Blushing lightly, the both of them give each other a look before turning back to her, giving a definitive nod each because hey, they’re more than ready to get married. “It’s time for us to go take our seats, but, god, I love you guys. Good luck little brother,” she says, placing a kiss on Harry’s cheek before finding the hands of Daisy and Phoebe and leading them with the rest of the pack, Louis’ father, her own, and Liam, all the way up to the front of the room, saving two seats for Anne and Jay as well, of course.

Zayn and Niall make their way to the front, standing together on opposite sides of the podium and looking back down the aisle at their best friends who wait anxiously to walk up there themselves. Jay hands Genevieve a little basket of flower petals and tells her to toss them lightly around while she walks up to the front by her Uncle Zayn, just like she practiced in the rehearsal yesterday. Genevieve nods, and puts a serious face on, because, y’know, being a flower girl is serious business. Especially at her own father’s wedding. Those flower petals have to decorate the ground they will walk on perfectly. She can handle it.

Mendelssohn’s classic, Wedding March, begins to sound from the organ that has been channelled to the front of the room in the space designated for the ceremony music. This is it, they’re about to be fucking married, Louis thinks, and well, so does Harry. Zayn waves Genevieve on up, giving her the cue she needs to move forward, one step at a time to the music that fills the room, throwing flower petals handfuls at a time in front of her as she makes her way up. As she reaches the front of the room, everybody in the crowd stands up, awaiting Louis and Harry’s entrance, and Zayn reaches a hand out for her, pulling the little girl up into his arms.

“Hey, Gen, can you do me a favour?” Zayn whispers to her softly, and of course he receives a nod in response. He fishes around in his jacket pocket, producing a small velvet box, and he places it in the palm of her hand. “Wait for my cue, and when it’s time, I need you to give this to your dad, okay?”

She nods, but she’s no longer paying attention, squeezing the little box in her hand as she smiles and waves to her father, who is walking slowly up the aisle toward her, with the biggest smile she’s ever seen on his face, arm in arm with her Grandma Jay. Following right behind him is Harry, looking long and lean as ever, linked arm in arm with his own mum as they make their way down the aisle. Louis pulls Jay in for a hug and a kiss, and he parts from her to join his daughter up at the front, and Harry does the same, whispering, “Love you, Mum,” as he turns for the front as well. Harry mouths a ‘love you,’ as he runs a hand down the length of Louis’ jacket clad arm, and receives a silent ‘ditto’ in return.

The music settles down softly, and the minister makes his way over to the podium, his loud bellowing voice pulling the attention from everyone in the room, especially that of Louis and Harry’s. “I would like to thank you all for gathering here today to witness one of life’s greatest moments: the lawful marriage of Mr. Louis Tomlinson, and Mr. Harry Styles.”

The room falls quiet, impatiently awaiting the man to carry on. From Zayn’s arms, Genevieve reaches forward and tugs on Louis’ shoulder, getting his attention and pulling him in so she can fix the crooked boutonniere and all is well. “Love is like a flame that burns brighter with passion, and when two people marry, they make the promise to keep their flame burning endlessly and without waver. From what I’ve been able to gather from these two men right here in the time that I’ve known them, it’s that their flame won’t be fizzling out any time soon,” the minister jokes. Well, he’s really only half joking. Everyone’s seen how Louis and Harry act. “Now, Harry and Louis, are you ready to make this promise?”

“I believe we are,” Louis nods for the both of them. Hell, he was ready to make this promise, like, yesterday.

“Okay, then we won’t waste any more time, Louis, let’s start with you,” the minister smiles. Louis gulps. This is fucking it. “Louis Tomlinson, do you take Harry Styles to be your husband? Do you promise to honour, cherish, and protect him? Loving him today, tomorrow, and forever?”

“I do,” he nods.

“And Harry Styles, do you take Louis Tomlinson to be your husband? Do you promise to honour, cherish, and protect him as well? Loving him today, tomorrow, and forever?”

“I do,” Harry’s feeling kind of light headed at the moment, kind of like he’s going to pass out because he’s fucking marrying Louis Tomlinson.

“And now for the rings; the unbroken symbol of promise and love. By placing these rings on each other’s hands you are promising to keep your flame burning bright, infinitely.” Zayn nudges Genevieve to hand the ring box to Louis, who opens it before Harry, watching his glistening eyes as they take it in.

“Louis, those are beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing out over Louis’ hands. “Jesus, put it on me already.”

“Hey, hey, we’ve got forever, remember? What’s the rush?” Louis jokes, but the stern look he receives from Harry sends him plucking the ring from the box, while simultaneously drawing a chuckle from everyone else within hearing distance. “Okay, Harry, my love, this ring is my gift of endless love for you. I will cherish you every day for the rest of my life. With this ring, I thee wed.” And Louis slides the ring down the fourth finger of Harry’s left hand, bringing that very hand up to his lips to press a kiss to the roof of it.

“And Louis,” Harry begins, pulling the second ring from the box. “This ring is the symbol of my promise to keep our flame burning. There is no start, and there is no stop to it; it just is. And that is the nature of my love for you. So with this ring, I thee wed,” Harry feels like his emotions just came up vomit style, but he doesn’t care because he’s sliding that ring down Louis’ finger like it’s his fucking job.

“With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you lawfully wed,” the minister announces uproariously. However, everyone looks to him, expecting him to go on. “What are you waiting for? You may now kiss your husband!”

And really, that was all the cue they needed. Louis grabs the lapels of Harry’s suit jacket and pulls him in, kissing that impossibly soft mouth of his. Harry swipes his tongue across Louis’ bottom lip and his hand finds his way to Louis’ lower back. They’re married.

Zayn sets Genevieve down and she pushes herself between Louis and Harry, and when they break apart Harry pulls her up into his arm between them and she kisses both of them on the cheek. “You’re married now!”

“Yes, munchkin, we sure are,” Louis grins. He pulls Harry into him once more, “Come here you fool,” and he says against his lips, “my beautiful, beautiful husband.”

Now, Louis’ not sure whether or not he should be taking something like this as a bad omen, but, he hasn’t even been married for a full thirty seconds before a bit of a problem decides to thrust itself upon his shoulders. Everyone’s starting to head out of the boardroom, flocking over to the bar for a drink or out to their cars for the intermission between the ceremony and the reception. Well, everyone except one person who Louis catches sight of out the corner of his eye, feeling every ounce of air that was meant to fill his lungs jam up in the back of his throat like it’s been caught in 5 o’clock traffic.

Harry looks to him, his fingers gripping Louis’ wrist tightly in his concern. “Harry, I need you to take Genevieve out to the car,” he says flatly. Genevieve places the palm of her hand on Louis’ cheek, pulling his attention and softening his features in one simple gesture. “Time to go get ready for wedding photos, okay munchkin?”

“Louis?” Harry asks, obviously perplexed.

“Take my daughter out of here,” is all he says before pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek and turning from the both of them as he heads to the back of the room where a woman in a frilly purple dress remains seated.

“Wondered how long it’d take you to notice me sitting back here,” she winks, standing up and patting her dress down neatly against her thighs.

“Get out,” Louis deadpans.

“Okay, yeah, I figure—”

“Get out,” Louis’ ears are ringing and his heart is beating a million miles an hour, if not more, and his fists are clenched at his side. He lets the words roll off his tongue venomously one more time. “Get out.”

“Can we please be reasonable here? This is a wedding for god’s sake,” she laughs, making light of the situation at hand. The chime of her laughter cuts through Louis like a knife, if not because he remembers it so clearly, but because he hears one pain-strikingly similar to it about a hundred times a day.

“Listen to me,” he hears himself say before he can even register that he’s begun talking. “This isn’t happening. Not here, not ever. I need you to get out and stay the fuck away from my family. Funny, you’re usually pretty good at doing that, aren’t you?”

“Love, look, I—”

“Lou,” Harry exasperates, slightly out of breath as he runs up. His shiny black shoes hit the ground harder than he intended as he’d made his way over there, and now he’s got a hand on his husband’s shoulder. He knows this woman; he’s seen her in pictures, he’s seen her in Louis’ daughter. Harry’s hand slides down Louis’ arm until he finds his hand, weaving their fingers together, and he looks pointedly at Ruby. “With all due respect, I think it’s time you leave.”

“This one’s a bit more of a gentleman than I’d thought,” she smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way out. A friend of a friend’s told me Lou was getting hitched down here, so. Just thought I’d drop by here to give you this. Never really know when a good time to do these things are, but, here we are,” she giggles, attempted to break the tension. She hands an envelope to Louis, and his fingers latch on to it so tight he leaves dents in the paper. “Give that to her, will you? When it’s time, I mean. You’ve done quite the job with her, I’ll give you that. Your daughter is absolutely gorgeous.”

“You’re right, actually, she is my daughter. So last time I checked showing up uninvited to my wedding to have me give her some letter from someone who doesn’t mean shit to her is a bit uncalled for, don’t you think? She is not your daughter, so I don’t know why you’re here, pretending this piece of fucking paper is going to make up for the guilt you feel over running off on her,” Louis says through tight lips, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter with each word that rolls fiercely off his tongue. “Even if this pathetic excuse of an apology could have made up for something, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Because you were never her parent. She’s got parents. She certainly doesn’t need this.”

“You need to go,” Harry says, not leaving any room in the statement for her to be confused about. “And please, in future, resist any temptations you may have that heed you to make yourself welcome to the presence of my family, because you’re not.”

She nods solemnly and slings her little black purse over her shoulder, turning for the door. The second she leaves the room Louis crumples into Harry, letting him hold him while with shaky hands he scrunches up the letter into a ball of waste in his palm and tucks it into the back pocket of his trousers. 

“Well,” Louis sighs, letting his lungs deflate as he blows out a gust of long withheld wind. He pulls himself off of Harry, wiping his clammy palms down his thighs before shoving them into the pockets of his jacket and putting on a faux grin. “Ready to go take some wedding photos, husband?”

“We don’t have to go right away, Lou,” Harry breathes, stepping toward Louis again, if not just for the sake of being close to him, then because he can see through this c’est la vie façade Louis’ putting on and has decided to keep close in case he decides to faint or something. “We can take all the time you need, okay?”

“I think I’ll need more time than I can probably get right now to recuperate, so at this point it’s best that we just get out there. And I should probably find Genevieve,” he says, letting his shoulders sink in a bit. His hand navigates the space between them until it finds Harry’s, and with locked fingers they make their way out the board room and toward the miraculously sunny outdoors. And of course he does not expect anyone to hold it against him when he more than thankfully takes the glass of wine the bar tender offers him on his walk by the bar. Nor does he expect it to be held against him when he finishes the glass before he’s even actually made it outside, a mere 6 steps away from where it was handed to him.

“Everything okay?” Zayn asks, taking the empty glass from him and setting it on an iron wrought table beside the large glass door. 

“Yeah, well, we handled it. She’s gone, right?” For some reason Louis’ intuition is screaming at him to take a once-over the whole place, making sure she’s really gone. I mean, he’d gone the whole ceremony without noticing her, who knows how long she could manage to stick around unnoticed?

“Yeah, yeah. She drove away. Didn’t give me the nicest of looks,” he says sourly. “Hey, are you alright though? She didn’t like…?” Zayn cuts off, looking back at Genevieve, who’s chasing Daisy around the car.

“No, and I don’t really want to make it any bigger of a deal than it is,” Louis waves the whole thing off. “Right now I’ve got some wedding photos to go take with my husband, if you don’t mind.” Zayn throws his hands up, signalling he’ll leave him be, and Louis steps backward slowly, pulling Harry along with him.

“Daddy—oof—!” Genevieve squeals, until she quite literally runs into Louis’ leg. Okay, so, she misjudged that stop, flinging herself full fledge at her father. She reaches up, up, up, until he lifts her and slings her so she’s sitting comfortably up there on the curve of his hip. “Are you okay now?”

“Oh, yes. Actually, you are just the lady I’ve come looking for. Now, what do you say we go find the man with the camera and take some pictures?” Genevieve nods enthusiastically, latching her small fingers into the fabric of Harry’s tux, making sure he comes along. “Harry’s not going anywhere, munchkin; we couldn’t possibly take any pictures without him.”

“Good,” she says decidedly, patting down the wrinkle she’d put in his sleeve.

“Louis?” Harry croaks. “Are you sure you don’t need a minute or two?”

“Listen, Harry,” Louis begins, setting Genevieve down and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck, looking into those incredibly green eyes while he carries on. “There are so many parts of today I want to remember for the rest of my life, I’m not giving that an ounce of my conscious. Right now all I want is to take some god damn wedding pictures with my hot ass husband, our best fucking men, and our daughter. So help me god if I don’t.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry rolls his eyes at him, placing a hand on each of his hips. “Got it. Backburner. Now kiss your hot ass husband and let’s go take those god damn photos, Louis Tomlinson.”

And so they do finally get to it, everyone piling up in their cars and heading off to a nearby river with the greenest trees and gossamer landscape and thankfully the weather held out the whole hour they’d spent outside there, taking what might seem to be the most gorgeous set of wedding photos known to man. 

A very pleased photographer managed to get some nice shots of just the two of them, shots with Genevieve, shots with just Zayn and Niall, shots with their entire families, and best of all, shots of everyone together, laughing and caressing each other fondly. This day isn’t just a unity for Louis and Harry, they realize, nor is it a unity for their families as well. This day has united their entire lives together; pulling all their loved ones, their passions, their aspirations, etc. together. It’s completely unbelievable, but here they are. The photographs, every single one, display happiness in its purest form, and it can be honestly said that not a trace of worry, nor anger, can be found in Louis’ wide blue eyes.

Everyone makes it back to Rain Bar with a few minutes to spare before the reception begins, and Louis follows Zayn out to the back of the building where his lifelong friend plucks a cigarette from his pack and brings it to his lips. Louis was sure Harry and Genevieve were somewhere in tow, but it seems they hadn’t followed them back here, and Louis is left alone with Zayn in search for air from the tidal wave of worry he’d been avoiding washes right through him.

“Answer this honestly,” Louis says with a hint of light, passive aggressive laughter behind the melody of his voice. Zayn realizes he’s not ready to have this conversation as he lights and inhales. “Have I don’t right, by Harry?”

Zayn lets that question sit and age in the silence between them for a moment, letting the smoke curl around himself more so than his thoughts, vaguely hoping the tainted O2 will suffocate him in that moment. “By choosing Harry for yourself, or for Genevieve?” Zayn asks, not because it really makes a difference, as it’s clear the answer remains the same all around. The phrase is merely to get Louis to see that, which, under normal circumstances he knows he would. But what with her showing up today, well, Zayn gets it.

“I know I’ve chosen right for myself, but that’s not the point. I’d live my life miserably if that’s what it takes to make the right choices for my daughter,” Louis explains. Just as Zayn is about to explain why Harry is right for Genevieve in all the same ways he’s right for him, Louis chooses to rephrase. “Was I right to send her away today?”

Zayn taps the ashes from his cigarette. “Did she ever love Genevieve?” He asks so softly Louis wonders if Zayn thinks he’s fragile enough to shatter, but he shakes his head nonetheless. “And today, did it seem as though that has changed?”

“No,” Louis admits, biting his lip. His eyes follow the burner on the end of Zayn’s smoke as the amber light it brought up to his mouth, and then back down to where his hand rests by his thigh.

“And what about Harry? Can you say the same?”

“Of course not,” Louis scoffs. There’s not a time he can recall Ruby expressing love for Genevieve, very much unlike there’s not a time he can recall Harry not expressing love for her. The two scenarios are incomparable—and, yeah. He should have realized that before he’d even let himself talk in the first place. Zayn has a habit of making him feel that way, actually.

“Then I think you’ve got your answer,” Zayn offers, and really, that’s just about all he can give. He flicks the cigarette to the ground and stamps it out, offering his arms out to Louis, who comes to him for a hug like that itself is all the reassurance he needed, and everything else was but a waste of breath. “And boy am I glad you chose right,” Zayn laughs against Louis’ hair, “I’ve got one fine plus-one to your wedding now, but I sure didn’t when we were seventeen.”

“Come on you wanker,” Louis says, pulling out from Zayn’s embrace and pretending to jab his ribs, “you’ve got a bouquet to catch if you expect to be married next.”

Louis can feel his heart fluttering in his chest as they queue up to walk into the reception hall, announced as husbands, and he’s pretty sure it’s going to fly right out of his chest. 

Gemma does a fantastic job as MC, welcoming Niall and Zayn to the crowd as best men, Genevieve in tow as flower girl, and then finally she’s all but shouting into her mic, “Everyone stand up and put your hands together for the newlywed couple, Harry and Louis Tomlinson!”

They walk past the threshold to a room full of people they know and love, who are all here to celebrate them, and Louis finds Harry’s hand between them, weaving their fingers together as they walk across the hall, glowing brighter than ever. “I fucking love you,” Louis tells Harry softly over the dull roar of applause, shouts, and half joking wolf whistles in their celebration, and Harry leans into Louis’ neck to repeat the statement back to him. He ends up raising their joined hands over Louis’ head, maneuvering them to twirl Louis and bring him in right up against himself, placing the type of kiss on Louis’ lips that would probably be considered not socially acceptable if this weren’t their wedding, and if people weren’t expecting them to parade their love around in front of everyone because of it.

“What do you say the boys we’re here in honour of share their first dance as a married couple?” Gemma suggests, raising her brows excitedly at the room full of people who can barely manage to peel their eyes off Louis and Harry for the better part of anything Gemma’s saying. “Let’s get to it, yeah? The song they’ve chosen to share with us tonight is Found You, by Ross Copperman.”

Harry lets their hands mingle together between them for a moment while their preferred song starts, pulling Louis in with the melody and taking his place as lead right off the get go. Rightfully so, as Louis can’t dance for shit and finds himself a bit nervous to be doing this in front of so many people, but he does have a bit of a surprise for Harry. He’s been working with Zayn a bit on his dancing techniques, so at least he isn’t quite as bad as he would be under normal circumstances. It’s not much, he’s no Fred Astaire, but at least he’s learned how to keep his rhythm.

Well, I saw you there just the other day  

you smiled at me in a secret way

Harry’s hand splays out on Louis’ older back, Louis’ hand on Harry’s shoulder gripping him for dear life because god he loves this, doesn’t ever want to let go. If he could melt into Harry right now, he would, without looking back.

So I let you in and you captured me 

I’m your prisoner, it’s what I want to be 

Their free hands are clasped together, and Harry brings them in so his is pressed against Louis’ chest and vice versa, just as Louis lets his head rest on Harry’s shoulder, lips so close to his skin it’s a miracle they’re not touching. A twitch of his nose swipes against stray chocolate curls and Louis feels like home. So much so that for the next few minutes he’s able to forget about the fact that there’s even anyone else in the room.

When it feels like it’s love 

All the stars lift you up 

To place you high above 

On top of the world 

I’m just glad that I found you

Harry sings to him softly, a mere whisper only to Louis, like it’s a secret. This may be their day of celebration, a day they get to share with everyone, but Harry and Louis both’ll be damned if they don’t get something of their own.

It starts as a hum,

Like a thief you came to steal my heart

and halfway through humming the next line Harry can’t contain it anymore, he breaks out to speak the words to him, because this is it. This is all he wants and this is all he wants to be,

I’ll surrender now, because you broke my guard

okay, so, it’s actually Louis; this stanza, anyway. It’s part of the reason he picked this song, actually. If there’s any song in the world that describes the both of them so wholly, it’s probably this one.

Harry lets his thumb brush over the roof of Harry’s hand, down his knuckles and drawing goosebumps. And by this point he’s full fledge singing under his breath to Louis, the hot breath slipping past his lips hitting the shell of his ear.

Such a pretty face, it warms my soul

And your sweet blue eyes, they shine like gold

“Kiss me,” Louis murmurs, lifting his cheek from Harry’s shoulder, and kissing him first despite his request to be kissed; pressing his lips against Harry’s jaw, leaving a trail in his wake before pressing a final peck to the corner of his mouth. Their knees knock together as they cave into each other, and Louis decides he’s done bothering with the romantics of holding Harry’s hand between them, choosing to wrap his arms around both his shoulders and play with the hair at the nape of his neck instead.

And you know it must be right

‘cause it’s burning up inside

I can feel it in your eyes

I want you to know, yeah

I’m just glad that I found you

Harry’s hand slides from the small of Louis’ back to his hip, his other hand finding slotting into the dip above Louis’ other hip bone, the flap of his jacket hanging over to conceal their touch. “I’m so glad I found you,” Harry murmurs against his lips, and Louis can’t help but smile at his cheesy arse of a husband. Louis hums a reply that sounds suspiciously synonymous to ditto, and Harry chuckles, “you ready for the big finale?” finding Louis’ hand to twirl him once more in front of everyone, clumsy toes stepping on each other with the spin.

Yeah, I’m just glad that I found you

But before Harry can bring him down for the dip, Louis is reaching for the lapels of Harry’s jacket and reining him in for an exaggerated kiss; the kind you see in movies, like they haven’t kissed in weeks or months or years, or as if they’re drowning and their lips are the only oxygen reservoir for miles. Harry decides he can live without the dip if he gets to indulge in this. 

When they break apart they both turn for the crowd, seated at the tables, as the waiters walk around filling water glasses and setting wine bottles on the tabletops. Gemma announces, “Can we have the mothers of the grooms come to the dance floor now, please,” and Anne and Jay set their glasses down, standing up and patting their dresses down before meeting each other in the middle of their two separate tables, sharing a teary hug before finding the other’s son.

“Can I have this dance?” Harry asks Jay, holding out his hand for her, two which she blushes, calls Harry a prat, and accepts by grabbing his hand and letting him lead her out to the middle of the floor just as Heartbeats, a rendition by Jose Gonzalez starts softly, flooding the room around them.

“Mum,” Louis greets Anne, pulling her into a hug, if not for the sentiment itself, then to have the opportunity to warn, “I hope to god our future kids don’t get their dancing genes from me.”

“Oh, Louis,” Anne grins, her heels clacking against the dance floor as they make their way out to join Harry and Jay, “it’s not so bad, see?” She assures, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s what Harry always says, but if worse comes to worst I can always step on his feet and truly leave the work to him,” Louis jokes, swaying with the soft music. He counts in his head, one. step back. two. step left. three. step right.

“Not happening this time around,” Anne says lightly. “I love you dearly, but no.”

Harry and Jay laugh with their heads back as they dance by, and Louis smiles, admiring the way Harry carts his mother in circles around the dance floor, using the allotted space they’ve got to its full effect, but Anne smiles at Louis like he’s the next best thing to prance into her life, his short and choppy two-step dance and all.

“Thank you so much, Harry,” Jay says to him, calming her giggles and letting go of his hand for a moment to wipe away a tear that’d escaped. He smiles at her warmly, not expecting her to go on. “I mean it. You’ve done so much for my family—well, they’re your family now—but I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for them. For loving them the way you do.”

“I’m glad you approve, because I’m not sure what I’d do without them,” he tells her, tightening his grip around her hand when he gets it back in his. “I don’t think I could’ve picked a better family to become a part of if I tried.”

“I’m so proud to call you my son, Harry Tomlinson.”

“As am I you, mum,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek as the song comes to a close. The music transitions softly into a beautiful melody, needless of lyrics, and someone taps his shoulder, Jay sending him a wink before letting him turn to find his own mum behind him, pulling him into a motherly embrace.

Louis hugs Jay, swaying into her arms, finding Genevieve’s eyes as she comes up behind her, and he bends his mum down and they open their arms for the little girl to come in and hug them both, pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek.

“Are you going to dance with me Daddy?” she asks as Jay backs herself out to give them some room, finding Anne and Harry a short distance next to them.

“You bet I am,” Louis says, poking the tip of her nose. “It looks like they’re starting to bring out dinner, love. What do you say we eat, and when the music starts for real you’ll be the first lovely lady I dance with?”

“Do I get to sit with you and Harry for dinner?” She asks, searching frantically behind herself to look for him. Just as much as Harry has become a crucial part of Louis, he’s become part of Genevieve as well, and it warms the hell out of their hearts.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, babe. It’s the three of us with Niall and Uncle Zayn to our table,” Louis tells her. “Just like we went over yesterday, I promise.”

She decides she’s happy with that, letting Louis pick her up now and find Harry, placing a hand on his waist and a kiss to his cheek, before leading all three of them over to the table and taking their seats next to their groomsmen. There are salad bowls filled next to everyone’s dish, where their meal is plated and their wine glasses have been filled generously by Niall, Zayn finding grape juice to fill Genevieve’s with.

About halfway through their dinner Gemma starts tapping her fork gently against her glass, and everyone starts to do the same until metallic chimes out of sync fill their ears and they stand before everyone to kiss, swallowing down a mouthful of food and smiling happily into the kiss for everyone to see. As they take their seats and put their napkins back over their laps Gemma then stands, glass in one hand and microphone in the other, moving away from her table and over to the podium closer to Louis and Harry’s table, raising her glass up into the air.

“Before we get started with speeches here, can we have a toast to my baby brother and his husband? To a life full of love and laughter,” she toasts, to which everyone else raises their glasses up in celebration, clinking with others’ and bringing their drinks to their lips. “Thank you. And now, should we start with the groomsmen? Zayn, it looks like you’re up.”

He meets her at the podium with a hug in store, taking the mic as she hands it over, his own glass in his free hand and crumpled papers he digs around his pocket for forgetting momentarily that he’s holding a microphone as the sound of it scratching against the fabric of his jacket resonates from the speakers in the room.

“Oops,” he blushes. “You know what, um. Screw it. Louis had me write my speech out and run it by him for approval, but sorry Lou, I’m throwing this one to the wind. Perhaps in light of how you live your entire life.”

“Ha-ha,” Louis exaggerates a fake laugh and flips Zayn off discreetly.

“I mean, something’s got to inspire me once in a while, right?” Zayn chuckles. “My best friend of 23 years, everybody. Louis Tomlinson. I’ve known the lad since we were in diapers, growing up with each other in Donny, wreaking havoc together in school, right up until we graduated and came here for uni.

“I remember this one year, though, Louis thought it would be a great idea to skateboard off the roof of his house and into the pool in his backyard. And oh god, Jay, I’m so sorry we lied about what happened, and that you’re just being told the truth here today, but. Right, anyway, so we were probably like thirteen, and Louis comes to me with this real winner of an idea, and of course, being the man of better judgement than this idiot, I told him of course we shouldn’t. But did Louis ever listen to me? About as often as he listens to anyone else. And if you know Louis Tomlinson, you know he doesn’t listen to anyone.

“So we end up concocting this rope lift over the branch of a tree that hangs close by the roof to bring our boards up. And we climb the tree to get up there, and by this point in our lives, the prats we were back then, we were practically professionals at making the jump from the edge of the branch that was flimsy as hell onto the rooftop. We set our boards down on the peak and did our old secret handshake we had back then, remember that Lou? Soz I can’t share that, though. Brotherhood stuff, that is. Louis tells me to go first, and by some miracle that I will never understand, everything came up aces. But when it was Louis’ turn his back wheel got caught on a shingle or something and he ended up losing his board halfway down the roof and skidding down until he literally fell ten feet onto the deck. He came out of it with a broken leg and a sprained wrist, which is actually how a lot of his schemes should have ended up, when I look back on it,” Zayn reminisces, and Louis turns a bright shade of red and sinks into his drink. Not exactly a memory he thought he’d be reliving tonight, but here we are.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Jay scolds, and everyone else in the room erupts into laughter.

“So, yeah, Louis and I got up to some wild stuff when we were kids, and while some of it probably posed a threat to our lives, I’m glad I was there to go through it all with him. Couldn’t have picked me a better best mate, even to this day. He’s all settled down these days; a father, now he’s married. But I still see the reckless Louis I grew up with once in a while. Watch out, Harry, because if I know Louis, and I do, he’s going to make the rest of your lives together pretty interesting. And I’m sure you know that to some extent already. 

“It’s an honour to be mates with you now too, Harry, and I wish you all the best with this one. Not sure you’ll need it, though, from what I’ve seen over the past year it looks like you’ve got the Louis department covered.

“And that about wraps up what I’ve got to say, I think. So, thanks, boys, for having me in your life, for choosing me as your best man, Louis, and for having me speak on your behalf. It’s an honour,” Zayn smiles, raising his glass up to them and tipping it back when he brings it back down to his lips. “Ni, the mic’s all yours.”

Niall rubs his hands together anxiously before grabbing the microphone and tapping it a couple times, just because it seems like an appropriate thing to do. He doesn’t use microphones very often. “Hard to take the stage after that one,” Niall laughs, “Harry was a bore growing up.”

“I’ll have you all know I built a lego fortress in my youth,” he declares, standing up. Louis finds and grabs a hold of his sleeve, looking up to him with the kind of fond that crinkles up the corner of his eyes.

“Harry, you were eighteen,” Niall deadpans. Harry looks mortally offended and mouths for Niall to kiss his ass before taking his seat again. “I’ll tell you though, I would’ve thought Harry to be even more of a bore as we got older. I always knew him to be the type of bloke to settle down, I mean, the kid can be so serious sometimes. The first time Harry told me about Louis, I’m pretty sure he’d only known him for like, a day and a half, and by god I would have sworn they were married already, what with the way Harry spoke about him. But you know what? Sure, he’s an honorary Dad, and now he’s married, probably planning a book club or taking knitting lessons, but this sure-fire settled down version of Harry is surprisingly much less of a bore than the stick in the mud child he was. No offense, Harry, you’re my best mate, but you were born 90 years old, I swear it.

“Anyway, about the Harry we all know and love today; hair bigger than the moon probably, and more than a little bit obsessed with Louis,” Niall says, realizing he’s gotten a bit off topic. He can’t help it, it’s who he is. “Growing up, Harry used to tell me about all sorts of things. Lord of the Rings, that he wanted to be a singer, and even magic tricks when he went through a phase of wanting to be a magician so bad he’d taken up calling himself not Harry Houdini the 2nd, but just, Harrydini. And here’s the thing: Harry can’t tell stories for shit. I know it, you know it, he knows it; he talks slower than molasses and forgets what he’s saying after about three words, and ends up restarting a majority of the stories he tries to tell. But lately, Harry just likes to talk about Louis. And Genevieve, of course. LouisLouisLouis all day every day, and you know what? It may come as a surprise to some of you, but not a damn conversation about Louis has put me to sleep.

“I think it’s the passion, myself. But then again, Harrydini was pretty passionate, and yet no amount of magic or caffeine could keep me alert during a new trick. But I can listen to Harry talk about Louis for days at a time, the way you can hear him smile when he talks on the other end of the phone, the way he’ll repeat the point he’s trying to make about him to assure he’s hand selected the best possible words that his vocabulary can offer to describe Louis, the way he’ll cut me off because Louis’ home and just hang up on me. Absolutely heartwarming, that.

“And I know I made Harry promise the other night not to tell Louis what we did when I took him out for his bachelor party of sorts, but I’m going to share this all with you,” Niall looks over to Harry and smiles at him, he’s just so happy to be here and to be celebrating his best friend. “I took him to a fountain, you know, the one downtown, where people toss in coins? And I asked him, if you could make one wish right now, what would it be? and I handed him some change, and he said, I wish I could spend the rest of my life next to Louis, and threw the coin over his shoulder and everything. I mean, I’m not going to lie, we were pretty inebriated. I was expecting him to wish for a full stack of pancakes, to be honest. And I know I just broke, like, every code of law in the rulebook of wish-making, but Harry, I’m pretty sure you don’t need superstition for that one. You might as well have wished for that stack of pancakes, because you don’t need to wish to be with Louis for the rest of your life; that’s already a given.”

“I too just want to thank you for having me here today,” Niall tells them, “means a lot, really. Love you boys, and may you still look at each other like you do today when you’re old and grey.”

The mic is handed off to the next in line, their parents, siblings, and other close friends speaking in their honour, and it fills the rest of the dinner hour seamlessly. Waiters and waitresses flit around the room clearing empty plates from the table, dropping new bottles of wine off that are just waiting to be uncorked, and assuring that coffee will be coming around shortly after dinner as well. After Louis and Harry have finished eating they part from their table with a kiss, deciding to join their respective relatives for a short visit to make sure they’ve spent time with and thanked everyone who came here for their unity today.

“You boys look absolutely gorgeous,” Louis’ aunt says, pulling him in for a hug and placing a kiss on his cheek, sure to leave a lipstick print in its wake, making Louis laugh as he scrubs it away with the palm of his hand.

“Thank you kindly Aunt Mary,” Louis says, returning the smooch and heading off in another direction, bumping catastrophically into Liam, who is trying to balance five champagne flutes in his limited two hands. “Christ, Liam! Give me a heart attack on my damn wedding day, why don’t you?”

“Just the man I was looking for,” Liam says with a grin, “take some of these, yeah?” 

And Louis helps him carry them over to their table where Zayn sits, trying to balance his coffee spoon on the tip of his nose, Genevieve cackling beside him. “Right boys, where’s my spouse at?”

“Hello, spouse. You called?” Harry greets from behind him, catching wind of the spouse thing. They’re disgusting, honestly; Zayn lets the spoon clatter to the hardwood floor. Harry reaches to cover Zayn’s eyes with one hand and pulls Louis in by the neck with the other, kissing him diligently, like there’s a method that he’s learned in order to kiss Louis the way he deserves. They say practice makes perfect, and Harry is a damn professional. Zayn swats his hand away.

Liam elbows Harry, handing him a glass of champagne when he’s got his attention. Niall walks up to the table and grabs a glass without acknowledging that his friends are in a small circle nearby. “Neat,” he says, going to take a sip.

“Hey,” Liam shouts to him, Niall freeze-framing with the glass pressed to his lips. “Don’t drink that yet, you twat. Come here, it’s my turn to make a slightly shorter, slightly less significant speech, to a slightly smaller crowd.” They take their seats around the table, and Genevieve moves to sit on Louis’ lap, grabbing the glass from his hands to hold it for him. “I know I haven’t known you boys all that long—well, Harry and Niall, anyway.”

“Wait, you two knew each other before—I thought Zayn didn’t tell you who he was dating until—” Harry asks Louis, a bit puzzled, but bubbly nonetheless.

“I didn’t,” Zayn says, confused himself.

“Hey, I thought you told him?” Louis asks pointedly at Liam. 

Liam taps his fingers against his glass, disturbing the champagne bubbles inside. “Well, I figured now would be as good a time as any?” He laughs, “Anyway, can I get back to my speech? Right, so. Just over a year ago, I’d been out on a date with Louis. It was casual, believe me, the fucker stood me up after. Literally told me he threw away my phone number. Prick. But the point is, I knew when I met Louis that even if he wasn’t the one for me, he was going to be a really special one for someone else, and boy would that someone else be lucky. Louis is thoughtful, sweet, and has a pretty unique sense of humour, and those are a pretty good set of qualities to find in another person.

“And then when Zayn said he was going to introduce me to his best friend, I got to meet the two of you, and I played the bitter shafted card with Louis for a majority of the night, yes, but. I got to see him with that lucky guy who won his heart, and while I knew whoever that guy might be would be lucky, but I didn’t expect Louis to get quite so lucky as well, because I wasn’t sure there was someone out there that truly deserves him. I was so wrong and I’ve never been so happy to be wrong, because would you look at Harry? He’s charming, kind, and settled, and somehow these two know how to even each other out in ways I will never understand.

“What I’m trying to say, I guess, boys, is that I’ve never seen two people more meant for each other than you. And Harry, I’m glad Louis didn’t throw your number away,” Liam smiles, raising his glass up to the middle of the table. They all clink their glasses together and drink to that.

“So, did you guys—”

“No.”

“Okay,” Niall laughs, “had to ask.”

The speakers in the room sound Gemma tapping the microphone to get everyone’s attention, the melodic music dropping to a softer level, and she brings it up to her mouth. “Can we get the grooms up here, please? I believe it’s time to cut the cake!”

They weave up to the front of the room, dodging a coffee cart and a chair someone had left untucked from one of the tables. When they get there Gemma tells them to take off their jackets, because this is going to get messy, and it may or may not take every ounce of Louis’ self control not to pounce on Harry, looking long as ever in just the tux vest over his white button down. He hangs his own jacket over the back of a nearby chair and takes a moment to breathe, sticking a finger in his collar to loosen the tie a little bit. He can do this.

The cake is absolutely beautiful. Two tiers, one chocolate and one vanilla, of course, and they’re iced in decadent chocolate icing as well. There are floral imprints in the thick, rich frosting and each tier is topped with a white chocolate doily pattern shelled nice and snug on top. They decided to go traditional with a cake topper, nothing like those little bride-and-groom statues you see in (non)reality wedding shows, but something simpler: two golden wedding bands made of fondant, interwoven, and large enough to have the names harry and louis engraved in the circumference of them.

So, the cake is a work of art, basically; Gemma had it custom made for them, and as much as it pains her to do so she hands Harry a knife. The photographer get some ace shots of him cutting a piece out of the bottom tier, and he hands the knife off to Louis as he plates his piece (that, admittedly, does look like it can induce cavities) and licks a smudge of icing off his finger. Louis cuts proudly into the top tier, a portion probably too big for Harry, but he can’t really find it in himself to give a fuck, because he gets to feed it to him in about fifteen seconds. 

“You want some cake, Lou?” Harry asks, smiling at him like life is too good to be true. 

“Don’t even think about it, you’re first.” 

It doesn’t really go against the grain that he doesn’t listen, letting the fork clatter off the side of the plate as he grabs a piece of the cake between his fingers and presses it right up to Louis’ mouth. His eyes flutter shut as he says with utmost satisfaction, “I lo—” and is cut off by a sizable piece of vanilla shoved in his face. “Yeah,” he says around the bits of cake that actually made it into his mouth, “I deserved that.”

Louis’ got icing on his nose and smeared across his lips, and Harry’s got a streak of it on his cheek and a bit stuck in his eyelashes, but he’s not entirely sure how that’s even possible, but he doesn’t bother dwelling on it because Louis is kissing him on the cheek and licking it right off him in front of everyone. He grabs Louis’ face in the palms of his sticky hands and kisses him, coming back with a chocolatey stain of his own on his lips, and he wipes a thumb down the slope of Louis’ nose to clean him off. The photographer is thorough and camera happy throughout the whole exchange.

“Cake was good,” Louis says softly to him, “but you’re sweeter.”

“Okay, uh. Cake for anyone else?” Gemma asks, holding her arm out to the chocolate floral display as waitresses cut and plate pieces of their gorgeous wedding cake to cart off throughout the room, and as they grab their jackets and head to wash up, music begins to sound from the speakers. “And hey, if you’re not having dessert, we expect to see you shake it down to the dance floor!”

They wash the cake off themselves and Harry can’t help but blush when Louis’ hands find the curve of his arse after he’s dried them, pulling him in against himself. “Save a dance for me later, yeah? I’ve got to catch a girl out there,” Louis grins against his lips, kissing him once against the back of the closed restroom door, pulling away and leaving only enough time for Harry to promise him that, and he’s off, back toward the dining hall and skirting himself across the dance floor. He stops short in his tracks when he comes face to face with Genevieve, and he scoops the girl in question up into his arms in one swift movement, and she hugs onto him, her arms around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist.

“Will you dance with me now?” She asks, and his affirmation is in the form of squeezing her tighter, smiling so wide his eyes crinkle at her hair in his face and her cheek pressed against his neck. He doesn’t ever want to lose this; he wants her to forever be this small, and to carry her around in the safety of his arms. It’s less of a dance and more of a sway, and her legs are dangling at his sides from where her knees crook over his hips, but it’s got no impact on how much Louis cherishes being able to dance with his daughter at his wedding.

“Oh my,” Louis giggles, turning so Genevieve can see what he can see as the song starts to come to a close. Harry’s dancing with Niall, who looks a bit quick for the beat, like he’s trying to race it as he awkwardly moves Harry across the floor. They’re laughing so loud they barely notice the song has just ended, dancing right into the opening of the next song without a care in the world. “Wanna steal him? Harry called dibs on dancing with you second,” and she’s kicking to be let free so Louis sets her down, presses a kiss to the top of her head, and she’s flying across the floor, the little red dress of hers not slowing her down for a minute. 

Louis smiles fondly as Harry opens his arms to her, that big mouth of his splitting into a grin. How did I get so lucky? Louis thinks, because in all his wildest dreams, he never thought he would be the one to score the perfect family. Watching them meander across the floor, holding on tightly to each other and lazy limbs knocking into people around them, he knows that by some miracle, he fucking did it.

“Husband and daughter,” Louis greets, a kiss each on the cheek. “I like that. Husband and daughter. Daughter and husband. It has a ring to it.”

“Family,” Harry chimes, “good ring to that as well.”

“Fathers? How about that?” Genevieve asks precariously. 

“Oh yes, that one too,” Louis assures her. He pulls both of them in, his sizeable husband holding their little girl crushing into his chest. It’s quite possibly the best feeling in the world. “I love you both, so much.”

The night ages too quickly, and after trading off dancing with just about every member of each of their families, they start to notice the dance floor clearing and people putting on their jackets and heading out to start their cars.

“What do you say we get out of here, husband?” Harry asks, pulling Louis in by the hips. 

“Let’s go say goodnight to our daughter,” Louis says in the affirmative, leaning in to kiss him before wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him over to where Genevieve is dancing with Zayn and Liam. “Hey munchkin, we’re heading out.”

“Can I stay?” Genevieve asks, shaking her hips as she holds onto Zayn’s hand.

“You’re going back to Uncle Zayn’s tonight, so be ready when he is, okay? I already gave him your jammies and Keats,” Louis tells her, and she lets go of said uncle to say goodnight to the two of them. Louis picks her up and kisses her on both cheeks, tells her he loves her and that he’ll see her in the morning before they head out for their honeymoon. Harry does the same, spare taking her from Louis’ arms, and far too quickly he’s brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear and they’re whispering goodbye.

Their best men clap them on the back and whistle at them as they take their leave, and if not just for their amusement, than also for his own, Harry grabs Louis by the shoulder and dips him under the arch of the doorway, the palm of his hand spread wide on the small of his back as he kisses his husband open-mouthed, the sound of their friends hollering at them growing feint behind the hot ringing in their ears. 

“I want to be alone the next time I kiss you,” Louis huffs against his lips, but he kisses him one more time and then shrugs into Harry’s arms as he stands back up. “Okay, the next-next time I kiss you. And I mean it. Take me home, husband.”

“My pleasure,” Harry grins, anticipating the late and sensuous night ahead of them, sweeping his hands down his jacket and linking his arm through Louis’ as he leads them out to their car.

Little do they know it’s been plastered with JUST MARRIED signs and it looks like a confetti-making-machine has thrown up in, on, and around the vehicle, but. When they come face to face with it, it truly does warm their hearts. 

They’re married.

 

 

❖

 

 

“How did I know this was going to happen?” Harry asks, rhetorically, of course, as Louis is throwing mismatched clothes into a suitcase. Half of them have missed the suitcase partially or all together and his half of their bed is just a mess of his belongings. “I asked you to do your packing three days ago.”

“I’m handling it,” he mutters, scrummaging through his dresser drawers. “But while you’re here, have you seen the cap to my toothpaste?”

“Some people lose socks, you lose everything else,” Harry sighs. “Step out of the way, I’ll take care of it.” And when Louis doesn’t get the point, Harry quite literally shoos him away from the dresser and then out of the bedroom entirely. 

It takes him nearly twenty full minutes, but he eventually has all of the clothes Louis will need for their honeymoon folded and packed neatly into his suitcase, toiletries set right on top and he pulls the zipper until its sealed to perfection. Really, nobody can pack like Harry can. Except maybe Gemma. And his mother, for sure. Okay, so nobody can pack like Harry’s family can. In a duffle bag he throws a spare change of clothes and an extra toothbrush for Louis, along with a phone charger and a magazine for him to read on the plane, and the carry-on is officially taken care of as well. 

“What would you do without me?” Harry asks aloud after allowing Louis back into the room.

“What would I do without you?” Louis retorts, letting his hands slide over Harry’s ribcage until he’s trailing just low enough that—

“Hey now,” Harry coughs. “What did I say about best behaviour today?”

“Maybe I’m not a very good listener.”

“You’re definitely not a very good listener, that’s how we ended up here. But we’ve got to head out if you want to catch our plane, so we can spend a full week in Ibiza doing, well, that.” 

Harry is also very good at reasoning. Apparently so good that he can actually reason himself into talking Louis out of trying to indulge both of their needs right then and there. That kind of self control comes only with years of practice.

“I hate you for always being right,” Louis frowns, but for good measure he flicks Harry’s nipple over the stretched cotton of his shirt, and he definitely gets a rise out of the way he squirms.

It’s a lot easier to forget about the fact that he wants Louis to take him right there when there’s a knock on their front door, following by Jay waltzing in and Genevieve shouting hellos to her grandma.

“Hi mum,” Louis squeaks, a hand flying up to cover the bruise Harry’d left on his neck the night before.

“Covering up a blemish there, Lou?” She jokes. “You’ve barely been married a day, I get it.”

“Right, well. Now that that’s out in the open,” he says, trying to forget about the bite mark as he gives his mother a hug.

“Why do you and Harry have to leave?” Genevieve asks Louis, tugging on his sweatpants to gain his attention. She looks sad, her blue eyes wide and full of questions. Harry fears how Louis will react to her sense of abandonment, but he’s so very proud of the way he handles it.

Louis gets down on one knee so he’s at her eye level, and places both hands gently on her shoulders. “It’s just a little vacation, sweetheart. When two people who love each other get married, they take a trip somewhere after. To celebrate.”

“But we celebrated last night, when we danced,” she frowns.

“You’re right, we all celebrated together. But now it’s time for Harry and I to celebrate on our own, you know? Just the two of us. But we’ll be back so soon you won’t even have time to miss us, munchkin,” he breathes. “We’ll be back in just a couple of days. Does that sound alright?”

“You promise?” She asks. 

“I pinky promise,” he says, and they lock fingers together before her frown fades. Once it has, Louis knows she understands, and that she’ll be alright. And he knows he’ll be alright too. “Be good for Grandma Jay, okay?”

“Practice your counting homework and eat your vegetables,” Harry pipes in, and the two of them share a look that he probably wouldn’t be keen on seeing. Then again, he kind of guessed they would do that. 

“I will,” she smiles, pressing herself against his chest into a hug that feels like no other form of reassurance.

“I love you. So much, princess, so much you don’t even know,” he says into her hair.

“I love you too,” she says, and before he lets her go he plants a kiss on her forehead, and then she’s off to give similar goodbyes to Harry. 

With Genevieve still pressed to his hip, Harry follows after Louis in giving Jay a hug goodbye. “You boys have a safe trip. Enjoy yourselves, and just know we’re a phone call away over here, okay?”

“Sure thing, mum,” Louis says as he’s stealing Genevieve away for one last squeeze. He sets her down, pats the top of her head, and grabs his suit case as he takes in a deep breath. He doesn’t release the gust until he and Harry have walked out the door.

 

 

Nothing can bother Louis today. Not the fact that their plane was over an hour delayed, not the fact that the child sitting behind him on their connection flight kicked the back of his seat for nine consecutive hours, and not even the fact that it was raining upon their arrival in Ibiza. He’s in unfathomable bliss, officially married to Harry Styles. Harry Tomlinson? He can definitely get used to that.

“We came here to soak up the sun together,” Harry frowns, “the rain is inescapable.”

“I promise you we’ll leave here so tan our families won’t recognize us. But I didn’t come here for fine weather, I came here to spend alone time with you. Rain can’t possibly bring down a honeymoon, can it?” Louis asks mischievously, cocking a brow.

Harry thinks about that for a second, folding his arms over one another. 

“No time for a pro and con list, Styles, we’ve got a hotel room waiting for us.”

“Ahem,” he coughs.

“Tomlinson. Regardless, fuck your list. Tomlinsons don’t make lists anyway,” Louis says, throwing the strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder. He picks up his suitcase with one hand and hauls Harry with him in his other.

If either of them thought the outside of the resort was beautiful, even with the light rain, then the English language simply does not have a word to adequately describe the inside.

Blossoming vines decorate the entryway, and the check-in desk is a long granite countertop with trays of fruity cocktails centred between receptionists, behind them is a wall of international clocks displaying the time in every possible zone, and what Louis considers to be his favourite part, is a lobby bar. The Lobby bar is very open concept, you can grab a drink as you check-in to the hotel at 7 o’clock in the morning, just as they are now. There’s feint Spanish music playing in the background, and Louis wants to rock his hips to the beat, but the blistering heat has him waiting until he can exchange his sweats for shorts in order to do that. 

“Can I help you?” A petite brunette receptionist asks from behind the desk. The Spanish accent that drives behind her English is musical. 

“We’re here to check in,” Harry says, folding his arms where they rest atop the countertop. “Tomlinson, for two.” Louis grabs a cocktail and plops the decorative pineapple right into his glass, adding, “The honeymooners package.”

“Well, congratulations are in order. Your room should be ready in about ten minutes, and I’ll have a bottle of champagne ready to be corked waiting for you. I just need a piece of ID and a signature from you,” she requests, and they both hand over their licences for a check, and sign a waiver before she continues. “Here are your room keys, you’ll be staying in 227. Enjoy your honeymoon!”

“We’ll do just that, thank you,” Louis says, grabbing his key card and slipping it into his wallet. He knows the next ten minutes are going to pass by excruciatingly slowly as he anticipates getting to their room, stripping and taking a quality shower with his husband.

They manage the time before they go up the red bricked stairs that lead them to their floor, the hallway of the same decor, and when they swing the door open they’re met with the beautiful room that will house them for the next seven nights. The pillow top bed is made with fine white sheets and fluffy pillows to match. There’s a television on a stand across from it, a mini fridge in the corner, and just as they’d been told atop that sits a tray with a bottle of champagne, two flutes, and a note card. Tied around the neck of the bottle is a red balloon, and the note left for them just says happy honeymoon, lovers in possibly the neatest script they’ve ever seen. 

They decide on a nap to recuperate from the long flight, curling into each other on top of the thick sheets, trying their hardest to fall asleep despite the sunlight that trickles into the room, somehow, on this drizzly day. It’s an uncomfortable rest, to say the least, as most afternoon naps are with how they leave you foggy and confused. It’s decided upon their eyes fluttering open that they’ll begin to settle in for the week ahead of them here. 

It takes them about 15 more minutes to hang light jackets in the closet for those breezy Ibizan spring nights, put their ID’s and extra money away in the lockbox, and their toiletries taken to the bathroom. The towels Louis finds in there are just as soft as the bathrobes found in the closet, and honestly, Louis just wants to wrap himself in all of their cloud-like warmth. He chuckles to himself when he notices the floor length mirror just perfectly angled so when they wash up in the boxy glass shower they’ll be able to see their reflection perfectly. That could be kinky, depending on what they get up to in there. And even the high heavens know they will. 

“This looks fancy,” Harry says, holding up the bottle of champagne to read the label. It’s to no avail, however, because it reads Spanish. 

“Pop it open and lets start this celebration,” Louis grins, and when Harry does the cork goes flying and ricochets off the high ceiling, white foam dripping down the neck. He fills both champagne flutes and hands one over to Louis. “I love you,” is all the toast he can muster up before their glasses clink together and they take a sip, letting the bubbles burst on the tips of their tongues. 

“As I you," Harry concurs. 

Soon they’re topping off their glasses and making more toasts to being married and in love, each one becoming more ridiculous than the last. After they’re washed over with sadness at the end of the bottle they decide to call for room service and crack the bottle of wine in the mini fridge. They twirl noodles with their forks and sip wine from where they sit on the bed, crossed legged and joyfully, oh so blissfully in love.

Harry leans in, red stained lips just barely touching Louis’ before they start buzzing more from love than from their late afternoon drinks. Louis lets his lips meld into his as Harry brings his hands up to cup Louis’ face, the pad of his thumb drawing out across the stubble along his jawline.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, pulling back to look into his eyes, his hand trailing down until it rests comfortably on his chest. Louis’ eyes are a shade of blue he could drown in, though he would be lying if he said he didn’t the moment he met him. It’s really what brought him to this point, this unconditional love, far quicker than what Harry ever could have dreamt love to be possible of.

“Nothing, just kiss me,” Louis slurs, partially speaking right into Harry’s mouth as he brings him in closer again. But Harry can tell. The mechanics of Louis’ kisses are off, and it’s not the effect of alcohol in his blood and on his breath, but more like the way he’s rigid, and the desperation behind it. They’re needy kisses, and Harry knows this is not want Louis needs right now, but if it’s what he wants for now it’s what he’ll give him.

Louis fists his hands into Harry’s shirt, his knuckles turning white as he clenches the material tighter in the grasps of his fingers than is probably necessary, and his mouth moves with the pace of his quickening heartbeat. Harry complies to every move, fixing himself to be what makes Louis feel in control of himself again, what makes him feel better. He attempts to bite down on Harry’s bottom lip, but before he can force his jaw to do what he wants it to it begins to tremble, his lower lip pushing out into a frown that parts their kiss, and he sighs into the space between them.

“I’m so sorry I’m ruining this,” Louis whispers, defeated.

As it turns out, something can bother Louis today.

“Is this about—”

“Ruby. Yes.” Louis lets himself fall back onto the pillows behind him, and he stares in silence at the ceiling until the room starts spinning. He’s not sure if it’s because of that, or because of Ruby, but something in his gut twists violently, and he jumps off the bed and sprints directly to the bathroom to let it out.

“Babe,” Harry consoles, smoothing circles into his back. “This isn’t—okay. This isn’t healthy, Louis.”

“It’s the champagne,” he decides. “Too much carbonation is all, Curly.” He wipes his face on a hand towel and searches his bag of toiletries for his toothbrush.

“How many times are we going to have to go through this?” Harry asks, helping him locate what he needs to wash the mixed tastes of backwashed alcohol and anxiety out of his mouth. 

Louis crumples into Harry’s arms, because he’s right. He can’t keep this up. It’s not fair to his husband to pretend his skin is thick enough to handle everything that comes his way, to keep him locked out of the guards he builds up around himself.

“This is your honeymoon,” Louis tries to smile, “I’m trying, Harry, I’m really trying not to ruin it for you.”

“This is our honeymoon. And we can’t spend it properly together if we don’t take care of this, Louis.” He loves the way Harry’s voice—no matter what he’s saying, really—sounds like the solution to all of his problems. He loves the way he’s sure he’ll reach the end of any tunnel so long as Harry is talking him through it. 

He opens his mouth to let it off his chest, but he clamps his mouth shut again in frustration, not knowing where to start. 

“Take your time,” Harry says, the warmth behind his voice coating over and tearing away at the pain that’s been building up in Louis’ chest.

Louis tries storm up how to string his words together in just a way that gets exactly what he’s feeling across, but, as it turns out, he’s got nothing. “I just can’t believe that she—she just showed up. She thought it was acceptable to just fucking show up like that.” He can feel crimson rise to the surface of his skin, not through blush, but hot red anger. “It’s like she doesn’t understand the concept of consequence, it’s like she doesn’t care that while she galavants doing whatever the hell she wants, the rest of the world pays the price. What if Genevieve saw her?”

“I know, baby, I know where you’re coming from,” Harry soothes, “I know how much this is bothering you, angering you, but—“

“But what, Harry?”

“But I don’t think it’s healthy to dwell on the ‘what ifs’, because a lot of things could have happened the other day, but we should focus on and be happy about the fact that nothing like that did take place,” Harry expresses, correctly, of course. Louis knows it, everyone knows it. “I think instead of justifying your feelings, maybe lets start with how you feel, and then we’ll get to the why part.”

Louis doesn’t know how he got a man so great, so patient. He can admit that patience are hard to keep around him, the way he squabbles and and makes a joke out of everything, and he himself is quite possibly the least patient man to roam this small earth. Harry balances him out. Grounds him, you could say. And with his feet planted like this, with his hand tightly within Harry’s where they sit cross-legged on the bathroom floor, he says, “Scared.”

“That’s a good start.”

“Defensive. Yeah,” he nods to himself, properly acknowledging his feelings, “very scared, and very defensive.”

Harry isn’t able to get out a word of encouragement before Louis continues. 

“And that’s the why, I guess. She scared me—posed a threat, you could say. Which made me angry, and feel like I have to protect her. Genevieve, I mean. Made me defensive.” They just sit together for one silent moment, breathing that in and coming to terms with it. “Why, though? Why do you think she did it? Why now? Why ever?”

“Slow down, Lou, don’t get ahead of yourself here. You’re doing really great talking about this,” Harry smoothes his thumb over the roof of Louis’ hand as he whispers this encouragement between them. “To answer at least one of those questions, though, I don’t know. I don’t know why she showed up. But personally, I think she feels guilty. But it was just a letter, so I can’t say it was life-altering guilt. I think she needed to do some type of gesture that makes her feel better about herself.”

“Harry, do you think—“

“No.” He assures. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think she’ll be coming back.”

“I hope you’re right,” Louis sighs, and he lets go of Harry’s hands to wipe his palms down his thighs before he heaves himself up, pulling Harry up second, and leading him over to their bed. “I know we’ll be breaking just about every honeymoon law ever, but can we just lay down tonight, maybe watch a movie, and perhaps you can kiss me until I can no longer feel my lips.”

“I can do that,” Harry nods. “Rules were meant to be broken.”

In future they wish they could tell everyone they ended up watching a romantic movie, one with epiphanies and earth shattering love, and threw their cuddles to the wind with their passion. But instead they settle on The Amazing Spider-Man 2, and eat salted peanuts from the minibar and trade soft, closed-mouthed kisses until they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

 

 

The rest of their honeymoon does not go much the same; there are no more salty peanut flavoured kisses, no more Marvel before bed, and they last the rest of the week without needing an emotional revelation talk.

There are early mornings and shower hand jobs and afternoons in the Ibizan sun. There are dinners at dusk on the resort, a shooting star caught during a beach bonfire. There is sand in their hair and skin constantly touching skin. There are kisses soft, hard, wet, dry, passionate, slow, hungry, heated. There is skinny-dipping in the moonlight, sunrise yoga on the docks, and famous Ibizan party remixes sounding for at least 12 hours a day. They fall into each other’s arms at night, though there is sex—the best god damn sex they could’ve dreamt of—during just about every single time interval spanning the course of the week.

They take their leave one week from their arrival, sun-kissed, blissed, and ready to spend the rest of their lives together. They are Louis and Harry Tomlinson. Husbands.

 

 

Louis drops his suitcases in the hallway, lunging for the door with his keys, but Harry’s right beside him, things thrown somewhere, knocking at the door as Louis’ shaking hands jiggle the key in the lock. He can practically hear Harry mentally chastising him, ‘a credit card is much faster!’ But it doesn’t matter which is faster, because Genevieve is, throwing back the lock and opening the door to her dads excited faces. Hers is much the same, eyes wide and cheek splitting grin, and she jumps at Louis, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“I missed you so much baby girl,” Louis coos into her hair, “Did you miss me?”

“The whole time!” She shouts, a little too close to his ear, but, he’s not going to let her go for the world. Okay, maybe for Harry. He thinks that’s fair. And even if he didn’t, it would’ve been too bad, because Harry pries her right out of Louis’ grip, holding her close andsaying he missed her too. It feels right, having his family all back together again. He loves it. 

“Thank you so much, mum,” Louis says, giving her a hug next.

“Look at how bronze you boys are!” Jay laughs, pressing her palm to her boy’s cheek. “Did you enjoy your honeymoon?”

“So much,” Harry assures. “We brought you guys something, actually.”

They find it’s a great time to grab their stuff from the hallway, now that they’ve gotten to see their beloved daughter again. Louis pulls out a photo album of the place and hands it to his mother, while Harry hands Genevieve a little book on sea animals. They flip through quickly and quietly, Genevieve peering over at the photo album to see her dads, young and in love, soaking in the sun. She likes that they look so happy.

Genevieve lets out a yawn, and Louis kicks back into dad-mode. “It’s eleven o’clock, kiddo, you’re lucky grandma let you stay up this late—”

“You’re lucky too, son,” Jay says, patting his hair.

“I suppose I am,” he smiles, “but now that I’ve gotten to see you, love, it’s time for bed. Okay?”

“I am tired,” she obliges, giving her grandma Jay a kiss goodnight and heading toward the washroom to brush her teeth.

Louis’ got one surprise left for her, something he picked up at one of the airport shops. Once she’s crawled into bed, Harry takes his seat at her feet and Louis crouches down with his elbows propped up on the mattress beside her. “How about we try out some Emily Dickinson tonight?”

“We don’t have that,” Genevieve points to her small collection, frowning. That frown doesn’t last long as Louis pulls out the small bound collection of Dickinson and he lets Genevieve pick randomly from the contents page as to which poem they’ll be reading tonight.

“The Wind Took Up the Northern Things it is,” Louis says, flipping open to that page and letting his fingers slide over the words as he reads them aloud.

“The Wind took up the Northern Things

And piled them in the south -

Then gave the East unto the West

And opening his mouth.

 

The four Divisions of the Earth

Did make as to devour

While everything to corners slunk

Behind the awful power - 

 

The Wind - unto his Chambers went

And natured ventured out - 

Her subjects scattered into place

Her systems ranged about.

 

Again the smoke from Dwellings rose

The Day abroad was heard -

How intimate, a Tempest past

The Transport of the Bird.”

“Goodnight Daddy,” she whispers, half asleep. “Goodnight Harry.”

“Goodnight baby,” they whisper back in unison, leaving a kiss each tingling on her cheeks as she drifts off to sleep. 

 

 

❖

 

 

  As spring gets older Louis gets the opportunity to present Genevieve with a bit of an offer. He’s just pulled her out of the bath, and they’re sitting crossed legged on her bed as he runs a brush through her long wet hair.

  “So baby girl, footie season is coming up,” he says without any weight added to the words. “Do you think you might want to sign up?”

  “And play football just like you?” She asks, turning to face him with her hands clapped together. When she smiles like that Louis can’t help but compare her to something more like the sun. He nods and smiles back at her, and her mind fancies up an image of what it might have looked like; her father young, and running, swift but fierce down a pitch. “Of course I want to! Silly question,” she says with a slight shake to her head. Well, that’s all settled then, isn’t it?

  “My little girl is gonna be the star of house league,” he decides. “I’ll register you tomorrow. League starts in two weeks.”

  “Will I get a jersey and everything?”

 

 

  While house league is probably best for Genevieve, as it’s her first year playing footie and needless to say she’s only five years old, perhaps it may not be the best for Louis. They all learn that quite quickly.

  “Coach, come on!” He shouts at the balding man with a clipboard held to his chest. What the fuck does he have a clipboard for, Louis thinks, it’s not like he’s done anything to fucking strategize.

  The man extends his arm out at Louis with the clipboard in his hand, essentially pointing angrily at him with both a finger and an utterly pointless chunk of particleboard. “Enough, Tomlinson!”

  “Why don’t you put miss daisy-picker over there on defence and let Genevieve go up with the ball. For once,” he spits.

  “Mr. Tomlinson, I regret to say this, but if you cannot get your husband to sit quietly for the rest of the game I’m going to have to kick him off the field,” the coach says to Harry, who just gives a subtle nod full of expectation. He should have known better than to let Louis sign Genevieve up for something most people would consider, well, non-competitive.

  “Yes sir, sorry,” Harry murmurs, placing a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Lou, she’s doing great on defence, look at her. She hasn’t let the ball get past her even once yet.”

  “That’s because the other team can’t play for shit, Harry. She’s only had to actually defend, once,” he says sourly. “And look at those offence players over there, they’re literally throwing grass at each other instead of trying to get the ball.”

  “This isn’t FIFA, Tomlinson; they’re five years old for christ’s sake. Now get off my field,” he demands, pointing at Louis again with that damn clipboard. That’s what irks Louis the most, y’know, the fucking clipboard he only uses to look the part.

  “Piss off,” he flips the coach off and turns away, letting Harry’s hand fall back down to his side.

  “We’ll meet you out at the car,” Harry calls after him. He approaches the coach and looks down at his feet when he talks. The coach sighs, knowing sooner or later he’d be approached for kicking the guy off the field every consecutive week since the season started. “Listen, football means a lot to him. He’s not really a prick, he’s just—okay, he’s kind of a prick sometimes. But it also means a whole lot to his daughter out there that she’s playing his favourite sport and every time he misses out on seeing her play, it’s just…do you think maybe next week, please, can you try to work out putting her on forward? I promise he’ll keep his mouth shut. Please, coach.”

  “Not you too,” he grumbles.

  “I’m asking,” Harry says raising his eyebrows at him mischievously. “It could be worse. I could be my husband.”

  “Well, if I’m going to say yes to one of you, it might as well be you. I’ll see what I can do for next week, Tomlinson. But I swear to god if I hear even one word, I will not hesitate—”

  “You won’t hear him, I promise,” Harry assures, walking back to his spot on the sidelines. When the game is done all the girls line up at centre field to shake hands, and Genevieve comes running off the field with a huge grin on her face, well, until she finds only Harry. “Good job out there kiddo! Why the long face?”

  “Where’s Daddy?” She asks, looking for Louis. Her coach is within hearing distance and a nice pool of guilt does seep over him.

  “Uh, I think he went to go get ice cream,” Harry tells her, a bit unsure if he even believes himself at this point.

  “He got kicked out again, didn’t he?” She rightfully guesses. She wipes a palm across her sweaty forehead, getting her hair out of her eyes, and she throws her water bottle down at Harry’s feet. “I hate this sport.”

  “Hey,” Harry starts, bending down to pick up her water bottle. He gets down on one knee so he’s at her level and he grabs her hand. “Give it one more shot, okay? Next week. And if it happens again we’ll pull you off the field too and you’ll never have to come back. I promise, next week will be better.”

  “How do you know you’ll be able to keep that promise?” She counters.

  “Have I ever broken a promise before?” He asks. He lets her think about it for a moment, eventually deciding that no, Harry keeps all of his promises, so she shakes her head and lets herself smile at him. “Now let’s go get Daddy, c’mon.”

  “Can you give me a piggyback, Dad?” She asks, but before he can even answer she jolts to his other side and hops on his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Go! Go! We have ice cream to get to!”

 

 

  “Go baby, go!” Louis shouts, jumping off his seat on the stands and trampling over the blades of grass that stand between himself and the field with each step closer to the sidelines. “You can do it, munchkin, c’mon!”

  “Never thought I’d see the day you didn’t piss me off, Tomlinson,” the coach mutters, clapping a hand on Louis’ shoulder as he watches Genevieve scurry down the field.

  “Never thought I’d see the day you did your job right, Coach,” he quips, his lips stretching out into a very satisfied smirk. See, Louis thinks, choosing to leave his opinion unsaid, we could have saved all this time and aggravation if you’d just listened to me.

  “Watch it,” he warns, chuckling. They watch on as Genevieve kicks the ball up as hard as she can, Louis pooling with warmth inside as it does nothing but hop up into the air a little bit and roll about a foot away when it lands back on the ground. She makes a face at the ball as though she’s been utterly betrayed by it, but then tackles it head on again, striking a bit further up the field this time. “She’s feisty, I’ll give you that.”

  “Superstar, that kid is,” Louis corrects, because yes, he’s one of those parents; he’ll fucking gloat your ear off about his daughter, he doesn’t even care. There she is, kicking the ball at the net one more time and the whistle is blown just as it swooshes past the goalie who looks particularly interested in the grass stains she got on her cleats. “Oh my god, Harry!” He turns to see Harry jumping off the stands and joining him there, and all cool jumps out the window as they sprint onto the field and meet Genevieve by the net, Louis throwing her up into the air.

  “You were amazing!” Harry shouts, stealing her from Louis’ arms when she comes back down. She grins and bats her lashes, holding her hand out to lock her tiny fingers between Louis’.

  “Incredible!” Louis says, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he wraps his free arm around Harry’s waist, pulling the three of them in together. “So good, Genevieve. We’re so proud of you, princess.”

  “So proud,” Harry echoes, “You did so well!”

  “And you kept your promise!” Genevieve says, pulling Harry and Louis in closer. “I can’t wait for next week’s game!”

 

 

❖

 

 

June brings flowers and sunshine, hopscotch in the alleyway and Genevieve putting the bicycle she’d gotten from Zayn to use. It brings summer with later sunsets and sweaty afternoons, barbecued dinner and campfires in Liam and Zayn’s backyard. Most importantly though, the beginning of this summer brings Genevieve’s graduation from nursery school. 

Louis and Harry, the proud parents they are, dress up in appropriate attire, Louis rolling the cuffs of his button down and Harry nagging him to wear it properly until he has complained enough for him to let it go. Genevieve dawns a pretty little floral dress and white velcro dress shoes, and she’s got little tan tights that make her itchy but she bargains with Harry that if she keeps them on he has to take her out for ice cream later. 

“What are we having for dinner on your big day?” Louis asks, picking her up and resting her on his hip, as per usual. She wraps her arms around his neck and shouts much louder than necessary that she wants pizza, of course. “Right, right. Of course,” he smiles, “pizza it is.”

And after they’re finished eating they all pile their plates in the sink in turn, and it goes against the grain for Harry to leave them until after they get home, but they’re running later than expected as it is. They toss their pizza box in the recycling bin as they make their way to the car, and sooner than Genevieve can believe it she’s back at her nursery school and is running up to the other kids she plays with.

“I like your dress,” a little boy named Dalton tells her, and she thanks him and gives a curtsey, and Louis swears he ages ten years on the spot. After nursery graduation she’s off to the convent. It’s happening. 

“Ellie, please put the chalk down,” their teacher, Ms. Emerson, instructs, “and Nicholas, stop picking your nose honey, we’re about to do our walk on stage.”

Louis chuckles softly at the frenzy, and gives Genevieve one last kiss on the cheek before heading out to take a seat next to Harry in the audience, and he’s just in time for the spotlight to shine on the gymnasium stage curtain.

“Welcome mothers and fathers of this year’s graduating nursery class,” the tall lady in a high heels begins. “My name is Ms. Emerson, and as most of you know, I’ve had the pleasure of not only teaching, but getting to know your children during the time here in our nursery class. What a wonderful bunch of children they are, and for this evening we’ve prepared a special presentation for you.”

Behind her the curtains open up and the group of children Genevieve goes to school with every day are sitting cross-legged centre stage, and on the walls behind them is some of their artwork they’ve saved over the course of the year. To spark everyone’s surprise, music begins to chime, and all of them partake in a rendition of a well known nursery song, and upon its completion is a tremendous round of applause.

“Now, we’ll call across the stage the graduating nursery class of this year,” Ms. Emerson says, and one by one the children shuffle across the stage when they hear their name being announced to the audience of parents.

Pity those who were close and unsuspecting, but they really should have second-thought sitting next to the Tomlinsons. When Genevieve’s name is being called, she walks across the stage, her eyes darting across the crowd of parents until Louis is standing up, clapping, and shouting “That’s my baby girl!” and she sighs in relief when she sees him. Other parents awe in her elation at the sight of her father, and she claps her hands together twice before catching up with the others and running toward her teacher for her graduate certificate. 

The rest of the children follow suit, another large round of applause takes place, and they entire collection of them bows in sync. Ms. Emerson sighs noticeably in relief at their successful graduation ceremony, and announces to everyone that the graduated children can reunite with their families and invites everyone for refreshments. 

“Do we want graduation refreshments, or ice cream?” Harry asks, taking a hold of her certificate so she doesn’t lose it. Louis scoops her up and swipes strands of hair out of her eyes as she contemplates this.

“Let’s get out of here!” She decides, and so ice cream it is. 

When they arrive at the ice cream parlour, she gets two scoops of bubblegum on a cone. But Louis knows better than to not ask for a bowl on the side, because in about 5 minutes its melting much faster than she can keep up with eating it, and he places her cone in the bowl and hands her a spoon so not to get any of it on her dress.

“I’m so proud of my baby girl,” he grins, stealing a bite of her ice cream, which earns him nothing less than furrowed brows. “You’re all grown up, starting primary school, princess. So proud of you.”

“We love you so much,” Harry adds.

She soon decides she’s finished, so they take their pink ice cream stained child home and wash her up for bed. Once she’s snuggly in her bed, her dads join her, squished on either side of her. They pull out Emily Dickinson, and Genevieve reaches out for it with anticipatory hands. “Can I?”

“You want to read the poem tonight?” Louis clarifies, his face lighting up. She gives him a hesitant nod, and he’s more than happy to hand the book over to her, letting her flip open to whichever poem she pleases.

“I might need help,” Genevieve says shyly, and both Louis and Harry give her nods of assurance. “How about this one? The Soul… _un_ to? The Soul unto itself?”

“That sounds perfect,” Harry encourages. “Go on, kiddo.”

“The Soul unto itself

Is an…Is an…ugh. Can you help me?”

“Imperial. Good try, baby,” Louis pats her back, signalling to go on.

“Is an imperial friend —  

Or the most ag…on…izing? Agonizing Spy —

An Enemy — could send —

 

Sec…ure against its own —

No treason it can fear —

Itself — its Sov…Sov? Sov-what?”

“Sovereign. Try and sound it out really slow,” Harry grins.

“So…er…reign. Sovereign — of itself

The Soul should stand in Awe.”

“Oh, princess, that was perfect,” Louis nestles her further into his side and presses kisses all over her face. Harry feels like he’s drowning in happiness, watching his husband fond all over his daughter’s reading success.

“We’ve got ourselves a new poem reader, that’s for sure,” Harry concurs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But for now she’s got to get some sleep.”

“Goodnight my little one,” Louis coos, getting up and covering her with her blankets.

“Goodnight my big one?” She says, though it comes out like more of a question. Louis sends her a wink and moves out of the way so Harry can get by to help tuck her in, and soon they’re shutting off the light and closing the door behind themselves.

From then on, Genevieve does begin to frequent the bedtime poem readings.

 

 

❖

 

 

  There are two things Harry has been considering as of late, pondering into the wee hours of the night which of two paths he should take at this point in his life; and now, after 6 months of being married to Louis Tomlinson and about a month’s worth of consideration, he feels that maybe, just maybe, if he had spent less time mulling it over and more time actually doing something about what he should do with his life he could have prevented this.

  He’s twenty-one, married, an honorary father slash caretaker of a jubilant five year old, but he has nothing to show for himself except nearly half his psych degree from uni and the money he’d inherited and has been living off of for the past two years. No job, no proper education, no property. He’s solely dependent on what he’s been given and managed to save of it, and he’s invested every ounce of his pride to this day into his guardianship over Genevieve and his relationship, being content with providing household essentials to the Tomlinsons, like cooking, cleaning, and for lack of a better word, just being a taller and more muscular version of a 1950’s housewife.

  He’s been thinking about it for a while now, mulling over the two applications he’s managed to get a hold of when he began to think about what the fuck he’s going to do with himself. Eventually his bank account will run dry, and he doesn’t exactly have any credentials or experience that would be necessary to land an actual career that would allow him to provide for his family in more ways than just his convenient knack for trivial housework. So, he ends up tossing and turning, keeping himself up at night and spending every spare moment he has throughout the day for a couple of weeks considering whether he should apply to go back to university, or apply to an internship that while does not pay a fantastic amount, will at least give him some experience for future job prospects.

  It isn’t until three days after he finally throws all qualms to the wind and just fills out and sends in both applications that he regrets even taking a moment to think about it, because while wanting to help his family, his decision making that was more procrastination and less actual processing had in the end just done the complete opposite of what he was originally intending to do.

  It’s a Thursday night, and Harry had Genevieve help him with dinner so she doesn’t spend all her time after school zoning in on cartoons, and just as he’s setting the table Louis walks through the door and kicks off his shoes in the hallway and throws his keys on the counter. Nothing seems out of the ordinary apart from the strength in which the keys hit the wall before ricocheting back and splaying out beside the sink. And the six pack of beer tucked under his arm. And the way his lips tug downward against his will, instead of the way they usually can’t help but expand into a splitting grin when he sees his family after a long day of work. Okay, there’s a lot out of the ordinary.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Harry smiles at him, not pushing to ask what’s wrong yet. Louis will talk to him about it later on, or when he’s ready.

  For now he just nods, pats the top of Genevieve’s head, and kisses Harry softly before leaving the kitchen almost as silently as he’d come in, saying only, “I’m going to shower, I’ll eat later. Don’t bother waiting for me.”

  Harry mumbles an “okay” so softly he’s sure it goes unheard, but Genevieve’s there, tugging on the hem of his shirt to get his attention. “Is Daddy okay?”

  “I’m sure he’s fine, sweetheart. Just had a long day,” Harry says, plating her dinner before placing a piece of chicken on his own and leading her to the table. “What do you say we eat now, huh? You’ve got to be just as hungry as I am, yeah?”

  While they’re sat at the table eating quietly, enjoying the company they have in each other and simultaneously worrying about Louis, the man in question comes out of the bathroom in sweatpants with wet hair, pops the cap off a bottle and trudges to the living room to collapse on the sofa. Harry tells Genevieve to go to her room and pick out a board game or something for them to play after he’s finished piling up the dishes.

  They play half a round of monopoly, Genevieve giving up after about three hours and owning three quarters of the property on the board, stating she’s too tired to keep counting spaces and she promises Harry she’ll clean up the mess tomorrow if she can just go to bed now. In hindsight, Harry realizes he should have had her pick a shorter poem, but he can’t help but laugh quietly to himself when she manages to fall asleep just two stanzas into Whitman’s All is Truth.

“O ME, man of slack faith so long!

Standing aloof—denying portions so long;

Only aware to-day of compact, all-diffused truth;

Discovering to-day there is not lie, or form of lie, and can be none, but it grows as inevitably upon itself as the truth does upon itself,

Or as any law of the earth, or any natural production of the earth does.

(This is curious, and may not be realized immediately—

But it must be realized; I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally with the rest,

And that the universe does.)”

  And the rest of the poem is left unsaid, Harry closing the book and kissing her goodnight before turning off the light and finding another sleeping Tomlinson; this one stretched out on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table next to four empty bottles of beer, the television blaring, and a half cleared plate of baked chicken and steamed carrots.

  Harry doesn’t like this. Doesn’t condone this. Does not let himself treat this as nothing, while Louis’ daughter sits in her room, pretending not to be concerned about her father for the sake of Harry’s own conscience over a board game. If Louis is upset, he should be talking to him about it; letting him help fix the issue. He can’t sit here and try to keep Genevieve distracted while Louis ignores them and tries to drown his problems, or poison them, or whatever the fuck else he’s trying at here.

  He grabs the bottles off the table and plate off his lap, not sparing any noise he could possibly make in the process, and he lets the porcelain clatter on the countertop, satisfied when Louis startles awake. “Is there anything you want to talk about, Lou?” He asks, taking a seat next to him on the couch and letting his hand rest on Louis’ thigh.

  “Not tonight,” Louis says, ignoring Harry’s touch and standing up. He stretches out, cracking his back, and then walks to the bedroom and crawls into bed. He’s left the door cracked open and the light on for Harry, who he knows will follow him in shortly, but he can’t do anything more than offer a small “mhmm,” to him when he kisses the back of his neck and whispers goodnight.

 

 

  “Louis, please,” Harry says, reaching for the bottle in Louis’ hand. Louis has come home from work for what will be the fourth day in a row now with this same attitude, and this evening has just been repeating its predecessors: more beer, skipped dinner, drinking on the couch. This time Harry had sent Genevieve to her room alone, though, deciding that he was going to cut Louis off at the third bottle, but he’s having no such luck. Louis had retracted his hand from Harry’s reach, the beer sloshing out the neck of the bottle onto his sweatshirt. “Louis, fucking talk to me!”

  “You really want to know?” Louis asks, but it’s rhetorical. Harry just swallows down the thickness in his throat and waits for him to go on. “They cut my hours at work, Harry. A lot. I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to pay rent in a week and a half. I don’t know how I’m going to afford my car insurance. Groceries. Bills. My fucking debt is racking up and I’m never going to get it paid off.”

  “We, Louis. You know I can help, you know I want to,” Harry says, like he’s said multiple times over the past year. “Louis, we’re married. We’re a partnership, for fuck’s sake. Your problems are my problems, your debts are my debts, just like my money is your money.”

It’s not the first time Harry has tried to help him pay bills, or assist in assuring ends have been met without any worry. It’s not that simple, Louis can’t just accept that money and use it to keep them comfortable or provide for his daughter with it. It’s not something Harry should have to take care of, and besides, until now, Louis has been managing well enough since he was seventeen.

  “Why not?” Harry asks. Louis shrugs, and mutters something unintelligible under his breath. “So, you’re not going to let me help you, but you’re going to sit here, ignoring your family and pissing away what money you do have on beer?”

  “I’m fucked if I do and I’m fucked if I don’t,” he says, a bitter edge to his voice. “It’s all the same in the end. I’ve got a fucking minor business relations degree that I haven’t finished paying off yet, either, and the best I can do with it is get reduced to part time at a fucking call centre. Please, humour me in how I can fix this problem without the side effects of cheap beer.”

  “You don’t want my help, but you do want my pity?” Harry breathes, and he shakes his head at Louis, because this is unfuckingbelievable. He’s not going to sit here and let Louis wallow in the idea that he’s going down with the ship he can no longer keep afloat, refuse help he’s being offered, and then expect him to feel sorry for him. Not happening.  “Grow up, Louis.”

  “Grow up? Grow up. That’s a good one,” Louis laughs, “I’ve grown up. I had no choice but to fucking grow up. So that’s pretty rich, coming from you.”

  He doesn’t let himself feel guilty for that one. Harry’s sitting here, not fucking understanding, and practically pushing the blame on him for his own problems. He sees the look on Harry’s face turn from angry to hurt, but he doesn’t let the guilt sink in. He takes another swig from his bottle and sets it down, the bubbles in the ale bursting down his throat, cutting through the silence left between them.

  “You haven’t worked a god damn day in your life, have you? I’m not talking about a job, I’m talking about work. When you have to pour all the energy you don’t fucking have into earning and providing for someone—for people—who deserve better than what you can give them, even at your best. They can get by on your best, but that itself is barely enough, and then suddenly, trying your best, which is the only option you’ve got, is taken away from you. It’s fucking gone, just like that,” Louis heaves everything he’s got out in one go, but finds more starts spilling out of him after he lets himself breathe. “Please, come talk to me when you’ve fucking worked yourself exhausted and then had every ounce of your dignity stripped from you. Even if you were dropped out of nowhere in a position even remotely similar to that, you’ve got your family’s money to fall back on, just like you said. And guess what I’ve got? Fucking shit, that’s what.”

  “What you’re saying sounds a whole hell of a lot like you think we’re a burden,” Harry mumbles, because if Louis can let the truth off his chest, so can he. Except, apparently not.

  “Go fuck yourself,” Louis spits at him, knocking over his empty beer bottle as he storms past, holing himself up in the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

  Well, talking didn’t go exactly how Harry had planned, that’s for sure. In the time they’ve been together they’ve had disagreements, they’ve have little squabbles, but they’ve never had a fight like this. They’ve never flung vicious words at each other, and they’ve never exactly been the type to tell each other to go fuck themselves, either. What does he do now? What  _can_  he do now? He isn’t left much time to process what the fuck just happened, because Genevieve creaks her door open and wanders over to find Harry alone in the living room with his head in his hands.

  “Dad?” Her voice so soft it’s barely audible, and she decides there’s nothing words can do for her at this point, choosing gestures to work with from there. She wraps her arms as tightly around Harry as she can, squishing the curls down on the side of his head as she presses her cheek against them.

  He hugs her back, but this is what he feels the most guilt over. He’ll work things out with Louis in time, he has faith in the fact that their words had no meaning behind them; but for Genevieve to hear their arguing muffled through her paper-thin bedroom walls, for them to set an example for her with this kind of behaviour and attitude toward each other. He just hates himself for it. He remembers when he was a kid, being able to hear his mum and dad fight downstairs, while Gemma tried to distract him up in their room with a movie or a game. He remembers being in Genevieve’s place, and it makes his stomach knot.

  “Everything’s okay,” Harry promises her, tangling his fingers in her hair that hangs down her back. She nods, her cheek still pressed to his hair. “Did you want me to bring you back to bed, kiddo?”

  “Are you and Daddy still going to be mad at each other in the morning?” She asks, and Harry’s sure he’s going to throw up. This isn’t fair to her at all.

  “No, sweetheart,” he says, smiling at her through teary eyes. He walks her back to her room, tucking her in once more, but this time she’s the one who kisses him on the cheek. And then he’s off to the linen closet for a spare blanket, and he strategizes the best way to position the couch pillows so they’re comfortable enough, and he doesn’t let himself cry.

 

 

  “Made you a tea,” Louis says, setting the mug down on the table and batting Harry’s feet away from the end of the sofa. Harry makes room for him, sitting up and pulling the blankets away too. Genevieve sits on the floor, legs crossed under the coffee table where she eats a bowl of cheerios.

  “Thanks,” Harry says, reaching for it and letting his fingers collect it’s warmth as he wraps them around the ceramic mug. Sleeping alone had felt cold in more ways than one.

  “Mhmm,” Louis hums, reaching for the television remote to turn on the news. “Sleep well?”

  Harry snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. He pulls himself up off the couch and carts himself over to the bathroom, emerging only after a scalding, lonely shower. He’s left with a bit of a chill, and he’s sure it’s got less to do with the brisk October air and more to do with the icy attitude Louis is resonating. So, he’s going to keep this up. Over Harry’s dead fucking body, he is.

  “I’ve got some errands to run,” Harry announces as he walks out of the bedroom in a clean set of clothes. Louis and Genevieve look up when he walks into the room, a practiced grin on his face. “Looking for some company, any takers?”

  Genevieve smiles at him and races off to her bedroom to get changed. Harry takes her bowl to the kitchen to wash it, dry it, and put it away, like routine; while Louis braids Genevieve’s hair, gives her a kiss on the forehead, and tells her to be good, also like routine. When Harry and Genevieve leave, Louis doesn’t say goodbye, not at all like routine.

 

 

  Harry pulls his credit card out of his wallet and jiggles the lock on the door open. Nostalgia. He breathes in. The door creaks open as he lets himself inside, closing it softly behind himself. He breathes out. He goes to the kitchen and sets his grocery bags on the counter, and pulls a folded envelope out of his back pocket. He breathes again.

“Lou, come here for a minute,” he says, taking a seat at the table. When Louis walks in, he pulls the contents of the envelope out and sets it out in front of himself and the seat Louis is presumably going to take.

  “Where’s Genevieve?” Louis asks, not seeing the girl in question. “What’s all this?”

  “She’s with Zayn, he and Liam are taking her to the cinema. This is, um. This is our banking information,” Harry states, separating the papers so they’re all on display, and Louis sits down, scrubbing his hands over his face, sighing not so much like he’s annoyed, but more like he’s exhausted.

  “Harry—”

  “No, Louis. I’m going to explain something to you, and you’re going to listen. I’m your partner here, okay, we’re equals. My name is on the flat lease too,” Harry cuts him off. “Because it’s ours. And it’s time we make some other things ours too.”

  Louis looks warily at him, and okay, maybe he had told himself he didn’t feel guilty about what he said to Harry last night, but he was wrong. He was so so wrong. He’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up, he feels so guilty.

  “This is my bank statement,” he says, pulling one of the sheets. It’s in a small package, all stapled together. It’s a full page of very small print, but closer to the bottom reads the account balance. £23, 978. He flips the page, the next one also filled with tiny fonts of notices and disclaimers, but also red X’s that stand out immensely, placed strategically next to signature prompts and requirements. “Our bank statement. I added you so it’s a joint account. And this is your debit card to access the money in it, and there’s a spot for you to sign the back of that too.”

  “Harry, for fu—”

  “Sign it. I’m not fighting with you anymore, Louis. Sign the fucking sheets,” Harry presses, handing Louis a pen. Louis doesn’t deserve this.

  After what he said to him last night, Harry should have packed a suitcase and told Louis he’ll mail him divorce papers. Instead he comes home with papers, alright. Papers to fucking give Louis access to his money. Louis doesn’t deserve anyone anywhere near as good as Harry, he knows it. Louis sighs again, and hesitates before grabbing the pen, but in the end he does. He doesn’t have it in him to fight with Harry anymore, and if this is what he wants, he’ll do it. He’ll give Harry the world, if that’s what he wants. Even though he knows it won’t undo what he did. He ends up signing all the lines asking for his signature, and then the back of the card.

  “Thank you,” Harry says, and continues with an infinitely smaller voice. “I know this only fixes the money issue, but I’m not sure how to fix the  _us_  issue. I’m just. I’m sorry. And that’s really all I’ve got.”

  “Hey, no—hey, it’s not your fault, honestly. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, I’m a fucking twat. And I’m so sorry, Harry, I’m so sorry I’m not sure there are even the right words in the entire English language that I can string together to adequately get across just how fucking sorry I am,” Louis’ bottom lip trembles as he talks, and he slides off his chair so he’s on his knees on the floor in front of Harry, his hands pressed to Harry’s thighs, his mouth curved downward, and his eyes brimming with tears. “I know sorry isn’t enough, but please. Please forgive me, Harry.”

  “I already have,” Harry says, his own eyes growing wet. God, Harry hates crying. His skin gets blotchy and red and he snots all over the place and he gets salt stains all over his sleeves; but he doesn’t really give a shit. His hands reach out to cup Louis’ cheeks, scruff under his palms and a trickling tear collecting on his fingertip. “Come here. Please,” Harry begs, and Louis pulls himself up onto Harry’s lap, “I don’t like when you’re mad at me, I—I can’t handle it. You felt so far away, you—”

  Louis cuts him off with a kiss. Harry’s heart beats beneath where his hand rests against his chest, thrumming softly at first, until their lips meet and his heart is jumping up to meet his palm. “Our bed was so cold without you,” Louis tells him, “I couldn’t sleep all night. I just laid there, hating myself.”

  “You’re a fucking idiot,” Harry whispers, his lips twitching into a cocky grin as he bats a final tear out of his lashes. “You’re a fucking idiot, Louis Tomlinson. And I’m taking care of rent.”

“I’m a fucking idiot, and you’re taking care of rent,” Louis concurs.

“Oh! Fuck, I almost forgot,” Harry jumps, momentarily forgetting there is a person literally sitting on him weighing him down to the chair. He claps his hands instead and then reaches out for Louis’, slotting his fingers between his. “I got a job offer today!”

“What?”

“I applied for an internship! It’s doesn’t pay a whole lot, but, it wouldn’t hurt to have the experience and to have a little bit of money come in while I’m at it, so. It’s for an assistant administrator at the primary school down the block.”

“Where Gen goes?” Louis asks, his face lit up with elation.

“That’s the one! I mean, it’s not a huge deal. I just take care of running attendance and answering the phones while the executive administrator is out, but. It’s a job!” Harry says, and Louis attacks him with a shower of kisses all over his face.

“Wait, wait,” Louis says, kissing him once more. “Does this mean we can do dirty secretary roleplay?”

“Louis, jesus christ,” Harry blushes.

“I mean, ironically,” Louis scoffs. Obviously. “We already have a spicy love life without adding pencil skirts and fishnets.”

“I hate you.”

“As do I. But you know who’s really going to hate me? Zayn, when we show up and crash his movie date with Liam that he’s brought our daughter on,” Louis says with a conniving grin, and he’s pulling Harry up off the chair and nearly right out the front door.

 

 

“Ah, yes, Tuesday the 28th at 1:45. Yes, that’s perfect. Okay, Mr. Turner will be happy to see you then. Oh, for sure. Thank you very much—oh, no, my pleasure. Yes, have a good day, bye now,” Harry’s just finishing up a phone call with a prospective client—future investor in the school, one of those who cares about the welfare and intelligence of the children. and the arts! for god’s sake don’t let the arts go, just think of the children!—booking a meeting between herself and the principal. And for crying out loud someone has been knocking at his office door for nearly five full minutes, if it weren’t for the arts! and the children! he would’ve been so close to slamming the phone down and telling the brat at the door to go to class that he would’ve been ashamed of himself. But, the arts truly need attention and support, so.

He yanks the door open now and looks down, but doesn’t spot someone roughly 3’4, which honestly, is what he was expecting. Instead he looks down to a bundle of flowers, and follows the bunch up until he’s looking over them and into Louis’ eyes.

“Flower delivery for…wait a second, what does it say here? Oh, no, this can’t be right. Says here best husband ever, but that can’t be, because he just left me knocking for quite some time there trying to get his attention,” Louis chastises, setting the vase of multi-coloured daisies on Harry’s desk.

“I can’t help how strongly Marybeth feels about arts funding, sorry,” Harry shrugs, leaning down to smell them. “Thank you, though. This is very sweet, other best husband ever.”

“Wait, so you get best and I just get to be the _other_ best? How do you rate?” Louis asks in mock insult, throwing his hands up on his hips.

“Well, there can only be one best, can’t there? We’re just lucky we found each other; nobody else in the world deserves the best or the other best, in my opinion,” Harry rambles.

“Yeah, yeah, just keep talking,” Louis nods sarcastically. Harry’s phone rings again and he sighs. He doesn’t want to go back home. It’s lonely at home without his family there to take up space in the flat. It’s been almost a month and Louis still isn’t used to having days off throughout the week. “I’ll be back to pick you lot up at 3:30.”

Harry smiles at him while he answers, “Manchester Primary Academy, Harry speaking. How can I help you?”

 

 

❖

 

 

“I want to be a witch,” Genevieve says, quite decidedly, with an already-wicked grin on her face. Late October’s brisk wind and earlier sunset means Halloween is just a couple days away, and it has become apparent that she is in need of a costume. 

“A good witch?” Harry asks hopefully, planning a pink ballgown not unlike Glinda from the Wizard of Oz. 

“A bad witch!” She tells him excitedly, clasping her little hands together and planning a webby black dress very unlike Glinda from the Wizard of Oz. 

“The evilest, of course,” Louis gives her a nod of agreement. “Let’s get to it then, costume shopping for this evil little witch.”

They stop at the nearest party store and find a whole wall dedicated to costumes for little girls, and it only takes about thirty seconds to find a witch costume perfect for her. The only problem that they encounter is it only takes another thirty seconds or so to find 5 more costumes that would be absolutely perfect as well. So it’s a half an hour spent in the dressing rooms trying them on one after another and coming out to parade it off to Harry to get his opinion. They settle on a short black dress with black tights that have purple spider webs on them. The hat is tall as can be, and is bent near the top. Nothing creepier than a crooked witch. She gets little black shoes to top off the outfit, and finds face paint and makeup at the counter that will add all the little touches.

That’s not all though, because of course there is lots of flat decorating to be done. Louis made sure to get some of those spiderwebs that you stretch out and cover the walls and doors with, until everything is cobwebby and there are little spiders tucked into the strands. They have a big treat bowl filled to the brim with candy in the kitchen, and Louis even takes to splashing fake blood on the windows. They hang a white sheet over the lamp and Genevieve goes to town drawing a face on it, and Louis lets her name the ghost once he’s complete. It’s name is (coincidentally) also Louis. Spooky. 

 

 

On the day of Halloween, Genevieve gets up extra early and while Louis gets ready for work, Harry helps paint Genevieve’s face and hands (and whatever skin you can see poking out at her neckline) an evil green. He helps her into her dress and tights and fastens her velcro black shoes and Louis is ready to go just as she’s gathering her backpack by the frontdoor. 

Louis stops by the closet before they head out and grabs a bag of candies, “Halloween treats for your school friends,” he says, putting it in her bag and zipping it back up. 

“I’m sure all their parents will love that,” Harry chuckles, kissing Louis goodbye first before staining his lips green on Genevieve’s cheek. 

He spends his day off from working at the school all alone in their little apartment, and after everything is neat and tidy he begins working on his and Louis’ costumes for this evening. He manages to dig up some old costume supplies from the back of their bedroom closet, old things and trinkets Louis keeps back there, and pulls together a pirate costume for Louis (spare any earrings or parrots) and he decides he’ll be a cat. 

He’s just finished painting on his whiskers when Zayn brings Genevieve through the door, dawning a red ensemble and little devil horns. Harry is in no place to judge, considering he is just wearing black pants and a black sweater, little cat ears and hand painted whiskers on his cheeks. Liam walks in behind them with bellbottoms and a tie-dye t-shirt, a bandana tied around his head. The four of them (mainly Genevieve and a little help from Zayn) end up putting a dent into the candy bowl by themselves, and shortly after they’re experiencing the first signs of a sugar coma, Louis gets home coincidentally at the same time that Niall arrives in white tights and a tutu with a white tee tucked in nicely. He’s got little fairy wings, and a chain necklace that hangs down to his chest with an molar mounted on it. A tooth fairy, yes, that’s creative. 

Louis isn’t through the door for a full 10 seconds before Genevieve is jumping on him and telling him to get changed so they can go trick or treating, and after about seven minutes of everyone’s dire anticipation, he emerges from his bedroom dressed to a tee with a long white shirt, rags, and a patch over his eye. 

“Arr…matey,” Louis attempts, and everyone including himself laughs.

Genevieve begs Harry to let them go out now, but Harry insists on dinner first. So they order pizza, the lot of them grabbing a slice and commenting on each other’s costumes, before dusk has officially hit and the neighbourhood children can be seen roaming the streets with their parents not too far behind, ringing doorbells with treat bags in hand. 

Genevieve is probably the only child out there tonight with five grown men in costume walking with her, but they try not to dwell on that and just keep up with the pretence with her. After her feet become sore and her bag becomes to heavy for her to carry, she decides she’s good and well to go back home, Louis lugging her sack beside her as she reaches in to grab a candy bar every block or so. 

“Genevieve, honey, wait until we get back home so I can check the candies for you,” Harry says, and then he tells Louis to close the bag so she can’t eat any more before it’s been sorted through. 

And if they thought she was going to bed at a reasonable time tonight, they were fooling themselves. She’s up until almost midnight wired on sugar, digging in for candy after candy. 

“Alright, before you get a mouth full of cavities and give Harry a stroke or something go brush your teeth and get your bottom into bed,” Louis instructs, and she frowns, but she knows it’s really late. Liam and Zayn finish off the last of their drinks and snag a chocolate for the road, giving Genevieve a kiss goodnight on their way out. Niall makes cosy on their couch, insisting he’s has one too many beers to be driving home.

“More than just one,” Harry chuckles, moving off the couch so he can turn it into a makeshift bed. “Plenty too many. Get your own blankets though, pal.”

The two of them tuck Genevieve into bed, Niall following them into the room as well, and all of them bid her not only goodnight, but one last “Happy Halloween.”

 

 

❖

 

 

Early November brings around school fundraisers, and for that, Genevieve’s class is in charge of the bake sale. Harry can bake, this is a common fact. He doesn’t go around saying, “I used to be a baker,” for nothing. But Louis decides this is his job as a parent to participate, despite his inability to cook anything except, well, cereal. Toast on a good day. 

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Louis says softly one night as he gets into bed. Harry’s eyes are closed, and all he can muster up is a soft ‘mmm’ sound to acknowledge him. “I need you to teach me how to cook.”

One of Harry’s eyes opens, just a little, but enough to stare at him in the dim light, as though he is absolutely insane. 

“I’m serious,” Louis pouts, his lip curling out as he pleas for his husband’s help. “I need you to teach me how to cook.”

“What’s the special occasion?” Harry mumbles sleepily, opening his arms for Louis to crawl in closer. His half-sleep dreams quickly escalate to burning kitchens and Louis becoming endangered. 

“Genevieve’s school bake sale,” he whispers. “I was thinking soufflé.”

“Nice try. I’m thinking chocolate chip cookies, or brownies. No soufflé for you just yet, Lou. Gotta work up to that delicacy.”

“You’re the pro.”

“I’m the pro,” Harry nods, his eyes squeezing shut tighter as he lets a yawn slip out. “I used to be a baker, you know.”

Louis chuckles sleepily now too, his breath hitting Harry’s neck and he presses a goodnight kiss in its wake.

When the morning sun rises it filters in through the space the curtains don’t cover. Louis’ eyes crack open and he slowly wakes Harry by letting his finger pads trace over his abundance of tattoos. He’s not entirely sure it’s working up until Harry’s arm twitches; nothing better than a little bothersome tickle to disrupt your sleep.

“Cookies, babe,” Louis reminds him, and Harry takes in a deep breath, coming to terms with the morning on the exhale. “Cookies,” he repeats as soon as Harry’s eyes are open.

“Find some patience,” Harry chuckles, rolling out of Louis’ embrace and heading for the bathroom clad in his boxers. He reaches for his toothbrush, gets the awful taste in his mouth taken care of, and then he goes back to the bedroom to slide on some clothes. It’s a comfy day, the way a Saturday should be, and so it’s nothing more than sweats and a henley for the both of them. 

Louis makes his way to freshen up in the bathroom as well, and by the time he meets Harry in the kitchen, all the necessary ingredients have already been pulled out. “Should I get a pen and paper? Take some notes?”

“On the first batch at least, probably,” Harry giggles, “you’ll need all the help you can get.”

“Especially if I’m recreating this on my own tomorrow,” Louis agrees.

“That’s…ambitious. But you can do it, Lou. You can do anything.”

Louis rises to his tiptoes to press a kiss to Harry’s lips, but he pulls back and makes a betrayed face, “Stop being such a sap, I need to keep my focus.”

“No more sap,” Harry says, bringing his right hand up to his heart. “I swear.”

Louis wants to kiss him again. And again, and again, and again, and then one more time for good measure. But he practices his self control. 

“Right, so first off, measure out your ingredients. What we’ve got here is flour, brown sugar, butter, baking soda, and eggs, to name a few things. You should be jotting this down.” And so he’s taking down the entire recipe, and then writing out the steps, one by one, right up to how long he should let them cool in the baking tray before putting them on a wire rack. He can do this, he can _so_ do this. It’s easy. Almost as easy as the pancakes he can make successfully at least 74% of the time.

And once this batch is done cooling, Harry tells Louis to go ahead and try one. They are fucking melt-in-your-mouth good. The PTA mum’s are going to flip their shit. He can’t wait. 

“Are you ready to try it? I’ll be watching the whole time to steer you in the right direction,” Harry encourages, handing Louis a measuring cup. 

Louis gives him a nod, takes the measuring cup probably a bit more aggressively than is necessary (he can’t help his what his confidence does to him, okay?), and begins to fill it with white flour. Soon enough he’s grabbing a hold of a whisk, “how do you whisk?” he asks, and Harry’s shaking his head at his husband incredulously, showing him by moving his hand in a simple circular motion, and once that’s done he’s plopping teaspoon sized dough balls onto a parchment covered baking tray and they’re in the oven for precisely 9 minutes. 

After they’ve finished cooling, Louis grabs one and takes a test bite. “They don’t taste like yours,” he comments, holding the cookie away from his mouth. Not in disgust, but in confusion, rather. He followed the steps to a tee. There’s no way they could turn out differently?

“Not exactly, but they’re still so good baby,” Harry smiles, “you did a great job. And every cook has his own touch to it, so don’t worry if they don’t taste exactly the same.”

Success. That’s what Louis feels.

Though, just 24 hours later when he’s doing this by himself, it’s failure. 

And extreme annoyance to the point of frustration. Harry’s already at the school helping to set up for the Sunday bake sale and Louis just can’t get this recipe right for the life of him. Was it baking powder or baking soda he was supposed to use? And what’s the difference between the two, anyway?

Even if he did manage to get through the recipe to the best of his (sparse) abilities, they ended up burning. He only left them in for 9 minutes, which he doesn’t understand either. He’s almost positive the temperature was set correctly, at 350F. Or should it have been 325F? Maybe he didn’t do so well with the recipe after all? It doesn’t really matter what he didn’t do right, because his cookies look caramelized and smell like burnt chocolate. He takes one off the baking tray and it’s rock hard. No, no, no, this cannot be happening. With a flick of his wrist he’s throwing it in the trash can and staring at the charcoal cookies like they’re his nemesis. 

“Daddy?” Genevieve says as she comes into the kitchen, plugging her nose between her fingers in disgust at the smell of the burnt cookies. “Are you almost ready to go?”

“Almost, sweetheart.”

“You’re not bringing those to the bake sale, are you?” She asks warily. She giggles to herself momentarily at the sound of her voice like this. She knew just as well that her father wouldn’t be able to bake cookies, especially from scratch, well enough for a fundraiser bake sale. They should have gotten Harry to do it, and he would have perfectly and with a smile on his face the whole time. 

“No, don’t you worry, we’ve got some good cookies to bring,” he sighs, taking out a tupperware container and throwing in Harry’s batch from yesterday, and what’s left of the ones he made yesterday as well, until the container is stuffed. “Okay, let’s just clean this up here and we’ll go.”

And after a few minutes of turning off the oven, double and then triple checking, they’re lacing up their shoes and sliding on their jackets and taking Harry’s successful cookies to the bake sale. 

“How did it go?” Harry asks as soon as they walk up to their table at the bake sale. Harry pops open the container and starts setting the cookies out on lined trays to fancy them up for customers. “These look great, Lou!”

“They’d better,” Louis huffs. “You made them.”

“What?”

“I’m never fucking baking again,” he scowls. “Cookies are evil. And I don’t trust that whisk of yours, either.”

“Oh, Lou,” Harry laughs, “I’m sure they’re salvageable.”

But when Harry gets home he finds that in fact they are not.

 

 

❖

 

 

The week following Louis’ 23rd birthday and Christmas, of course, brings New Year’s Eve fun. Zayn and Liam are throwing a party, and all of their friends are invited for the gathering.

When Louis and Harry arrive with Genevieve, they walk in to a tall dirty blond man dropping mentos into a bottle of beer to see if it explodes the same way it would in a bottle of soda. He looks defeated when it does nothing more than foam up and drip down onto his grey pants. “This is Liam’s mate, Andy,” Zayn introduces them, and when a tall girl with wild beach-waved hair walks in, he introduces her as “Eleanor, Andy’s girlfriend,” and handshakes are traded before Liam comes and interrupts with highly inappropriate kisses being placed on Zayn’s neck, and everyone quickly leaves the room. 

Niall rings the doorbell a short while later, and immediately begins helping Andy drop mentos right into the beer. The two of them decide it may take more than one for the ale to pressurize? But it’s an ongoing experiment that has devastatingly sad results, Eleanor not sparing any scoffs at their stupidity. And not five full minutes later Gemma arrives. Louis and Harry both are surprised at her appearance, but she just shrugs her shoulders, saying she was delighted to receive a call from Liam. 

Zayn takes care of having a good playlist running in the background of the party, an eclectic mix to sound the evening. They have new year’s specials muted on the television, just looking at all the lights and people gathered in London to celebrate the coming of the next calendar. 

“Can I refill anyone’s drink?” Liam asks, walking around with a bottle rye in one hand and wine in the other. Zayn holds his glass out for a top up, and Liam does just so, making sure not to leave his side without pressing a kiss to his lips. Louis understands Zayn’s aversion to his display of affection with Harry in front of him. It dries out the back of his throat in disgust. 

Liam makes his way around the room, and Gemma asks for a glass of water, but smiles and accepts it nonetheless when Liam fills her glass with white wine. Her eyes are fixed to the floor and she brings the glass to her lips only enough to leave a lipstick print on it, before she brings the glass back down and sets it on the table beside her. Niall, nonchalant as ever, walks over to take a seat between Gemma and Andy, and swipes the untouched glass of wine from the table on his way there. 

Once Harry’s got a full glass of wine, Louis snags it right from his hand. “Liam literally just asked if you wanted another drink.” 

“I don’t,” Louis smiles against the glass he presses to his lips, sipping chardonnay and eventually scrunching his nose when he comes to realize he hates white wine. He just wants to bug Harry, and he considers that to be a success when he hands him back the glass with a significant volume of his drink missing.

“Thanks dear,” Harry mutters, taking a drink of the wine he’d both asked for and enjoys. 

Drinks are clinked together after toasts, Louis accompanies Zayn out for a smoke break or two, filthy midnight kiss propositions are whispered back and forth between couples (resulting in nausea shared between everyone else). More video footage of downtown London is broadcasted for them to see, and Genevieve thoughtfully colours Andy a picture of fireworks, or in other words, a welcome-to-the-family work of art. 

Andy smiles and accepts it gratefully, and as soon as he’s reciprocated the hug she tunnelled in for, Gemma calls her over. “Come here, little angel,” she coos, and Genevieve comes running, leaping up onto her lap and immediately playing with her ironed hair. She holds her tight and mumbles softly about one day being so lucky as to have a little girl like her, and suddenly Louis gets it. “Just like you, baby girl,” she murmurs once more as she pets her hair, stroking over the twists and tangles that hang down her back. 

He watches how Gemma plays oh so gently with his daughter, hope gleaming in her eyes, and how she turned away from alcohol, and how she’s absolutely glowing, a radiance of warmth around her. She’s—“Oh my god,” Louis says out loud, and Gemma looks up and meets his understanding eyes, but the words are coming out of his mouth before he sees her shake her head with frightened eyes. “Oh my god, you’re pregnant!”

“Wait what?” Harry’s head snaps up sharp into the conversation, because biologically speaking, the only people in the room capable of being pregnant are his sister and Eleanor. But Harry assumes Louis wouldn’t jump up in excitement over the pregnancy of someone he’s just met. Gemma is biting her bottom lip, nervous, and very clearly wishing this hadn’t come out. Louis instantly feels bad, he didn’t mean for everything that’s happening now, and he certainly didn’t mean for anything that’s about to happen. “Gem?” Harry asks softly, looking at her, and everyone knows she just doesn’t have the words for this right now. Genevieve is confused by just about everything at this point. “Oh my god, for real? Gem, are you pregnant?” Harry says with such excitement his voice is low and breathy.

She nods, but she’s hesitant about making eye contact. Louis feels bad, yes, but he’s also confused. With the way Gemma is acting, all sharp movements and panicky eyes darting around the room, he realizes there’s something else he hadn’t pieced together before he opened his mouth; something she’s—ashamed? Yes. Something it seems as though she’s ashamed of. 

“This is incredible!” Harry is jumping to his feet, grabbing his sister’s hands around Genevieve, crouching down so he’s at their level. He thinks about bouncy babies and getting to help his sister through her pregnancy, and how his mother is going to be a grandma—how _he_ is going to be an _uncle_. He presses a kiss to the top of his sister’s head, and then one to the top of Genevieve’s as well out of pure elation. “Hear that kiddo? You’re going to have a little cousin soon! This is so great, Gems. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she smiles at him, holding on to his hands with visible tightness. Harry’s grin is stupidly big, he’s just imagining what it’ll be like for their children to grow up together. Hopefully they’ll move closer to each other, so he’ll get to be a constant in Baby Styles’ life, all joyous and full of laughter, the way babies typically are. It’s why Harry loves them so much. 

“So,” Harry says, “who’s the lucky guy, anyway? Please don’t tell me the father is that Mark guy you’ve been seeing for a couple weeks now.”

“No, no,” she assures him, the words falling out of her mouth much quicker than what it’d looked like she intended. Louis is replaying everything that’s happened through his head and he pieces it together just in time for Gemma to look over at Niall, a slight blush colouring becoming present. Niall’s eyes widen, red creeping up his neck until it colours his own cheeks, and when Harry sees their interaction, he looks down to see her lipstick printed glass of wine in his hand.

“Oh—um,” his brows furrow together for a moment, looking back and forth between the two of them, almost as if he’s twitching, and Louis is concerned he’s not breathing until he stands up and turns away, muttering, “excuse me,” as he exits the room. 

While Genevieve goes to follow him toward the corridor, Louis, Niall, and Gemma all stand up at the same time, murmuring something about going after him. Liam calls her over and she comes to a stop, one hand reaching out in the direction Harry’s left in, and her shoulders drop as she turns around to do what she’s told and takes a spot on his lap so she does’t get caught up in what would either take the direction of a panic attack or a fight. The three of them are bickering back and forth, all about halfway through justifying why they in turn should be the one to follow him when Zayn cuts in, “How about you save this for later and someone go fucking get him?” And before the other two know what’s happening Louis is out of the room, searching for him. 

His shoes aren’t on the welcome mat, so he slides his own and a coat on and finds Harry marching down the icy road, hands balled at his side. “Harry,” Louis calls, but it’s to no avail. Louis’ bounding steps twice as large as Harry’s (despite his drastically smaller legs) in attempt to catch up. “Harry, will you please stop for a second.”

“I need a minute,” Harry spits back. And yes, he knows he isn’t upset with Louis, and that he’s not being fair. But there is a lot happening for him to process right now. He can’t control any of his emotions at this point. And he’s fucking freezing. 

Louis is breathless, and he’s sure he’s lost at least a decade off his life to experiencing the fright that is almost-slipping-on-ice at least six times in the last two minutes, but he’s got one hand on Harry’s shoulder, and when Harry feels that warmth bleed through his shirt he stops in his tracks.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Harry mutters, his hands coming up to grip at his hair. His hands are shaking at his roots, there are snowflakes sticking in his eye lashes, he can’t feel his toes, and he’s seeing red. He looks slightly insane, but given the situation…

“Hey, hey. I know you’re probably feeling really betrayed right now,” Louis attempts to string words together in a way that will comfort Harry, but apparently it’s not working out very well. Harry just looks at him like that’s obvious, and Louis tries harder to be comforting, to be what Harry needs right now. “Which is totally understandable, I mean. I get it. But you’re always telling me to look at the whole situation, especially when flustered, and I need you to do that for me right now, okay? Just take a deep breath, and let’s approach this together, yeah?”

“He slept with my sister.” Harry’s voice isn’t just angry, it’s pained. If he were to cry, however, his tears would ice his lashes together and god only knows how long he wouldn’t be able to blink them open.“My best friend slept with my sister. And got her pregnant. That is the entire situation at hand, Louis.”

“Okay, yes. And he’s a bastard. But think about the baby for a second,” Louis encourages. “The baby is a good thing, right? You’re going to be an uncle to a beautiful baby—we are going to be uncles, and we get to spoil that kid rotten, am I right?”

“I guess, I mean. I was excited about that, and now all I can fucking think about is him—he slept with my sister, Louis, I can’t—I’m gonna kill him. I’m just gonna kill him,” it scares Louis for a second, how decided Harry sounds. He’s pivoting back toward the house, determined steps and tight knuckles.

“You’re not going to kill him,” Louis deadpans, getting ahead and placing a cold hand on Harry’s chest. “And I’ll tell you why. Your little niece or nephew is going to have not one, but two great parents. You can’t deny that.”

“Well, no, but.”

“No buts. Could you say the same for sure if it had been any other guy’s child?” Louis counters.

“Of course not, but.”

“Stop with the buts! You know how important this stuff is, don’t you? And what could you ask for more than for your niece or nephew to be properly cared for? Even if it is by your best friend?” And, yeah, that makes a whole lot of sense to Harry, now that he’s able to see that side of it. But his fists are still shaking at his side and while yes, it is because he is freezing, it is also because he’s still extremely angry.

It takes a moment of consideration, but he finally gives in. “Fine. I won’t kill him.” Harry’s voice has an edge to it, but Louis takes the phrase as success. He lets his hand slip down his chest until he locates Harry’s hand, and it takes a little bit of force, but he’s able to pull him back toward the house.

“Next time you have a fit that requires a walk, bring a jacket, will you?” Louis berates, letting go of his hand only to slide his jacket off his back and rest it over Harry’s shoulders. Once he’s got it down his arms, it’s really only for the last couple steps left until they’re reaching Zayn’s driveway again. 

Gemma is standing out in the cold, not bothering to zip her coat up, but rather wrapping it around herself until the fabric overlaps. When they get closer she runs up, placing a hand on each of Harry’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” she says, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s freezing out here. This can’t be good for you, Gem, go back inside,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She turns back for the house to find Niall had stepped outside while she was making her apology, and just about everyone in the neighbourhood (probably) knows this can’t be good.

Niall’s large strides brought him over faster than he was able to get an apology out, and Louis swears if he had seen it coming he would’ve done something to stop it. He knows Harry well, and he’s the most kind, caring boy you’ll ever meet. Louis understands that he’s fervently angry right now, but he’ll regret this after he’s had time to simmer down and really consider the pros and cons of the situation. But before anyone can process what’s happening, Harry’s arm is pulling back, and when it lunges forward his cold knuckles are cracking at the pressure of their collision with Niall’s face. 

Louis grabs at his arms and starts walking Harry away before Niall can even fall back on his arse, which is probably bruised now, where it sits atop thick, black ice. “Okay,” Niall pants, picking up some snow with one hand and immediately coating his already-swelling eye with it. “I deserved that.”

“No,” Louis argues, shaking his head. He’s still wrapped around Harry, so his husband is left essentially limbless. Though with the way it’s stinging, he wishes his hand were actually not attached to his body right about now. Nervous system at the very least.“What were you _thinking_?”

“Guess I was still thinking about how he slept with my sister,” Harry says, voice thick with resentment. He takes a deep breath and Louis is hesitant when he tries to shake him off, but frees him, keeping only a restrictive hand on his shoulder. “Lou, I’m not going to hit him again, I promise.”

“And I thought we decided on not killing Niall before, but then you went rogue,” Louis counters, and, yeah. Harry can’t deny that. But thankfully he can deny the will to continue to beat the ever living shit out of Niall, so he settles for walking through the snow until he’s at his side, holding out a hand to help him up.

“Harry, mate,” Niall begins, bending down to grab more snow to ice his eye with. Harry thinks that’s a good idea, picking up a handful for himself to numb his knuckles with. “Okay, I want to apologize here, but I’m going to freeze my nuts off and—”

“Bad time to make a joke about future children,” Louis pipes in.

“Christ. Thank you, Louis,” he’s actually relieved. Like, he was actually going to make that joke. Tonight. After getting hit once already. “Anyway, can we please do this inside.”

“I’m not apologizing for punching you in the face.”

And they finally move toward the inside of the house, snow coating their bruises and, and Liam meeting them all at the door with a pile of blankets in his arms. Zayn has Genevieve hoisted up on his hip, but as soon as he asks what happens and Niall replies, “What do you think happened? He hit me,” Zayn lets her down and tells her to go play in the living room with the others. Liam, feeling entirely out of place witnessing this little episode, leaves to join Genevieve, Andy, and Eleanor.

“He didn’t mean it,” Louis says softly, and Harry looks at him sharply before turning back to face Niall. Louis isn’t used to Harry being the one not thinking clearly—to have something bottled up inside him, especially this quickly, and he’s certainly not used to seeing Harry react so coldly, so violently. 

“No, I meant it. Stay the fuck away from my sister.” And Gemma takes this opportunity to insert herself between them, attempting to reason with him.

“Harry, stop being a prick for a second,” she scolds, reaching out to grab his cold hands, and she warms them between her own. “He’s your best friend.”

“Exactly. He should—Niall, you should fucking know better than—“

“It’s not his fault, Harry. Or not just his fault, anyway. I’m an adult, and I make my own decisions. I made _this_ decision,” she says, bringing her hand from the roof of his own to point toward Niall, and then bringing that hand to spread over her belly; a belly that within a few months time will be much more bulbous. “Just like I made the decision to go through with this. I don’t regret it. I don’t regret any of it.”

And Harry watches as she cranes to look back at Niall, fondness warming both their features, even if it is only for a moment before she looks back to her brother. “So this wasn’t, um.”

“We’ve been seeing each other for a while,” Gemma nods, and she winces at first, scared of his reaction. But to everyone’s surprise he doesn’t lunge violently at him, in fact, he doesn’t do anything at all except let his shoulders fall slack. He’s given in, no longer on the defence. Harry looks at her questioningly, unsure if he’s lost his mind or if rather everyone else is losing it. “Like I said, I don’t regret it.”

“If this is serious,” Harry breathes, before shaking his head, trying to wrap it around that fact that obviously it’s serious, they’re having a _baby_ together, “then I guess I respect that. I respect your decisions.” Both of them thank him, coming in for a hug, but Harry pushes Niall back, keeping one arm between them to suspend him from coming any closer just yet. “But I don’t entirely respect _yours_ right now, so. If you fuck up, I swear to god, Niall.”

“I give you full permission to rip my limbs off and beat me to death with myself,” he nods, and Harry mutters something like “don’t think I won’t” before dropping his arm and letting Niall come in for a grateful embrace. 

Gemma pulls off her outerwear and helps Niall to the living room, and Zayn coughs, feeling out of place now too, and so he retreats to the kitchen to grab a couple ice packs for the both of them. Louis just looks at Harry like he couldn’t be prouder, not about hitting Niall, of course, but that he was able to put his own feelings aside for his sister and his best friend’s. He knows that his anger stemmed from a place of concern for his sister’s wellbeing, but the softness he was so easily able to adjust into, the respect he had given Gemma, yes, that was in concern for her best interest as well. Louis helps pull his jacket off him and they take off their shoes again and they join everyone else in the living room.

Everyone tries to pretend like nothing happened, and nobody’s sure if it’s because of the short answers, or the tension in the room, but Gemma just starts laughing. Maniacally cackling until Harry looks at her, deciding that yes, everyone else is losing it.

“I can’t believe you punched him in the face,” she says breathlessly between hiccups of laughter. “You, _Harry_ , hit someone. Unbelievable. Mum’s never going to believe this.”

“Hurt myself a good bit too,” Harry says, rolling the ice over his knuckles. “If that makes you feel any better.”

It apparently does not make Niall feel any better. Shocking. “I’m going to have a black eye for a week.” 

“Still not apologizing,” Harry says, putting in enough effort to grin.

Liam shouts something or other about it almost being midnight, and he’s up to his feet gathering glasses and nagging Zayn to run to the refrigerator to grab the chilled bottle of champagne. Zayn switches on the best song for these last few moments of the year to conclude with, and they pop the bottle, filling everyone’s flute so they’re all ready for when the clock hits midnight and fireworks display all over the television. 

It’s a slow countdown, that’s for sure. But when it’s finally midnight, Harry leans right into Louis’ welcoming arms, kissing his lips with intention. It would be the textbook definition of the perfect kiss but he ends up sighing softly into Louis’ mouth when he cracks one eye open, seeing Gemma lean into Niall just the same, and he thinks that maybe, just _maybe_ , it could work out just fine. 

 

 

❖

 

 

Throughout the next couple of months nothing extraordinary takes place. Harry attends his sister’s appointments with her when Niall can’t make it, Genevieve learns to spell an abundance of words at school, there is a small incident with colouring on the walls that Louis is left to take care of, and Zayn adopts a puppy. That in turn results in Genevieve becoming obsessed with it and begging not only to visit her Uncle Zayn’s every. single. day., but to get her own puppy, of course. Which doesn’t happen. Louis tells her to ask him again in ten years, and she pouts for about three days before Louis compromises that anytime Zayn and Liam go away they can dog-sit. She is content with this for now.

But eventually, April rolls around again. And being the cheesy couple Louis and Harry are, they both, without each other knowing, begin looking into good ideas for a gift that fit the traditional 1st anniversary symbolism and romanticism. You know, paper.

Louis knows he’ll love anything Harry does (or does not? Depending on if he’s even up for celebrating and gift-giving) get him, but Louis knows what he wants to do is a bit more symbolic than it is an expense, because that’s what these things are about, aren’t they. Coincidentally, Harry’s thinking on an intimately close wavelength, but is that much of a surprise, really? They’ve become so much alike they’re almost the same person these days. It’s verging on terrifying. Harry does his research and pulls a few phone numbers from the internet before making his calls and gathering information.

If the lady at the bureau had picked up on what the both of them were planning, and how that correlates to their marriage license certification, then she certainly didn’t drop any hints to either of them, leaving them both completely clueless to each other’s frantic work and filing. 

“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson, your documents should arrive within the week,” Harry is advised the very same day and by the very same voice that Louis is also advised, “Good luck Mr. Tomlinson, your documents should arrive within the week.”

Paper. _Paper_. Traditional wedding anniversaries have never so much played favour to any other couple ever, they think—separately. And it’s probably true. Paper.

They don’t arrive on the same day, thankfully. The two of them check the mail like it’s a dirty little secret, or like they’re doing something less like checking the mail and more like feeding an addiction to crack cocaine. They’re twitchy, they never go down at the same time, and neither of them are able to guess what the other’s waiting for. 

“Just bills,” Louis says, throwing a couple of envelopes on the counter. What Harry doesn’t see is the brown envelope tucked inside his jacket. Definitely not bills.

Harry’s brown envelope of his own comes the following day, and he says the same thing. “Rent notice, and a postcard from Mum,” and he walks off with an envelope not yet for Louis’ eyes.

 

 

“Rise and shine,” Harry grins, pulling the sheets off both of them and rolling over on top of Louis, to wake him up, of course. He swings a leg over each of his hips, straddling him on the bed in the glow of the early morning. When Louis opens his eyes to see him he’s almost blinded, he harrumphs into the crook of his arm, and attempts to roll over. “Not today, Tomlinson. Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh…Sunday?” Louis asks, his voice particularly scratchy. Might be at the fault of an ace blowjob the night before, but you know, it could be anything.

“ _Oh your sweet blue eyes, they shine like gold…_ ”

“Oh, that’s good,” Louis laughs. He keeps his hands planted on Harry’s bare torso as he pushes him off his waist, crawling out of bed and pulling Harry with him, so they’re in the centre of their room. “Now do it right, sing it for me,” he says, holding Harry’s hand up to his chest, and their other arms crossed over each other so they’ve both got a hand on the other’s waist.

“ _I’m just glad that I found you, yeah,_ ” Harry hums, the two of them dancing, sleepy, together in their underwear, to the rhythm of Harry’s lackadaisical sing-song rendition of their wedding song. They don’t drop their arms from each other, swaying in the silence that in a perfect world, music would be filling. In this world, however, dust motes float in the gleaming sunshine, and they breathe in the proximity of each other’s skin.

“We could go out for dinner tonight,” Louis suggests. “Our place? Please?”

“Can’t say no to that, now can we?” Harry grins, brushing his nose against Louis’ and pressing a kiss to the skin above his lips. “We’ll make reservations after a shower.” And then once more, this time dead centre on his mouth.

Louis scrubs Harry’s body with lemongrass soap and Harry runs his shampoo-bubbly hands through Louis’ hair, they rinse each other off, trade quick hand jobs, and fill the shower with just as much steam of their own as there is coming off the hot water. Harry’s towelling off his hair as Louis is wrapping his towel around his waist, and he stops him once’s he’s got his own secured, his damp brown locks dripping down his back.

“God, I am so glad I married you,” Louis says, grazing a hand down Harry’s chest, bringing his towel down. Harry blushes slightly, pressing a kiss to Louis’ shoulder.

“Husband still thinks I’m hot after a whole year,” he says to himself, drawing a chuckle from Louis. He wraps his towel around his waist in turn and leads Louis back to their bedroom to dress for the day. “But really, whoever said the first year of marriage is the hardest clearly didn’t have us in mind.”

“Just make the reservations already,” Louis shoves his phone in his general directions, blushing, crimson cheeks and toothy grin. He spend the remainder of the day thinking about Harry, thinking about their dinner date, and thinking about he brown envelope in his sock drawer.

Only a few hours later they’ve dropped Genevieve off at Zayn and Liam’s for the evening, and parked their car back at the building and walked over to their favourite little Italian restaurant. “It’s our anniversary,” Harry says to the maître d’ as he leads them to their table out on the terrace. They’re incredibly fond of their glass top table under the stars, and request only to sit out there on their recurring dates here.

“Happy anniversary,” the man says, setting two menus down in front of them, “ciao!”

Louis straightens in his seat, grabs the bottle of red wine set on their table, and fills both his and Harry’s glasses. “To one full year with the best husband in the world,” Louis says, holding his glass up to meet Harry’s.

Harry bring them together with a barely-heard clink after agreeing, “To one full year with the _other_ best husband in the world.”

They order their meals, drink their beverages, wish they’d ordered what the other did, end up sharing, toast to each other at least three more times; semantics of a date, even through it brings them a few more butterflies than usual, considering. Their plates are cleared away, and they order a piece of tiramisu to share for dessert, and as soon as the small forks and plate are set on the table the waitress is leaving them be.

“So, we didn’t really discuss this, but. I got you something,” Harry starts.

“I got you something too. Something small—well, _big_ , but small,” Louis concurs.

“I went a bit traditional—” 

“Something paper,” Louis quirks an eyebrow. Harry looks at him like he’s stolen the words right from his mouth. 

He taps at the breast of his jacket, still feeling his brown envelope tucked away in the inside pocket, looking at Louis a bit suspiciously. But then Louis is returning the confused look and checking his own pocket, and fuck it, they both give up and pull out a brown envelope each.

“This is…” Harry mumbles, looking from his own envelope to Louis’, and back. “This is really weird, actually.”

“Fucking creepy,” Louis agrees.”I—um. Here. This is yours,” he hands the envelope to Harry and grabs the one from Harry’s fingertips.

Harry flips away the tucked seal, and Louis peels his back, and they’re both met with stapled booklets of paper headed with, “ _Certificate of Adoption_ ”, and about 150 different fields to fill in. They look very much the same, but they differ greatly. The papers in the envelope Harry is opening state specifically for the adoption of Genevieve Madison Tomlinson, while in contrast, the papers Harry has given to Louis are adoption papers to bring another child into their family. 

Neither of them know what to say, but their eyes well up and they just nod, holding the papers to their chest.

“This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me,” Harry smiles, batting his lashes in attempt to rid of the lingering tears. “I know mine’s a little—off the boat, but. I really want to expand our family, Louis. I want—”

“Shut up,” Louis whispers, reaching across the table to cup Harry’s face in his hand, to swipe his thumb over his bottom lip before bringing their mouths together. And he says, against Harry’s lips, “I want that too.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so....was it worth the wait?  
> one again, your comments/kudos/feedback are all GREATLY appreciated, and i can also be found on [tumblr](http://harryrip.tumblr.com)
> 
> up next (and last) is the epilogue, hope you can hold out just a little longer!!
> 
> thank you all for being a part of this world. xxxx

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!!  
> your comments/kudos/feedback is greatly appreciated, and i can also be found on [tumblr](http://harryrip.tumblr.com)


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